


“Craving” | Kylo Ren x Reader

by windfall44



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alpha Kylo Ren, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Controlling Kylo Ren, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Kylo Ren, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gags, Group Sex, Handcuffs, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Impact Play, I’ll edit the tags as the smut comes up, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Light BDSM, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mile High Club, Multi, One Night Stands, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Possessive Kylo Ren, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Queer Themes, Reader insert without the y/n, Reader-Insert, Rope Bondage, Sapphic, Scissoring, Shibari, Slow Burn, Smoking, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Kylo Ren, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 58,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfall44/pseuds/windfall44
Summary: Kylo Ren is a famous New York City artist, and his temper makes it impossible to keep a personal assistant or chef in the house. Will a streetwise girl finally be the one to tame the dark man?Can also be found on Wattpad: @windfall44
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Cardo (Star Wars)/Reader, Kaydel Ko Connix/Reader, Kuruk (Star Wars)/Reader, Kylo Ren & Original Female Character(s), Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You, Ushar (Star Wars)/Reader, Vicrul (Star Wars)/Reader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

“Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ , where are my knives??”

Running around the apartment like a mad woman, I’m  definitely  going to be late for work. As I search room to room, I’m also throwing my hair into a bun, pulling hairpins from between my teeth as I continue yelling at my poor roommate.

“I can’t be late  _again_ _!_ ”

“That’s three times this week!” Rose calls from the living room.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ okay here they are. Gotta run, wish me luck,” I say while throwing the roll-up full of knives into my backpack and grabbing a coat.

I sprint down the three stories of our building and my feet hit the Philadelphia streets. Running toward the bus stop, I can already tell it’s a lost cause. But I run anyway, passing by the beautiful brownstone rowhouses, autumn leaves crunching under my shoes.

Rose and I can’t  _really_ afford to live in this neighborhood, but we somehow lucked into a tiny two bedroom in a walk-up. I don’t mind the stairs everyday or the small bathroom we share- it’s worth it to be in this historic, and wealthy, area. We like to take walks arm in arm around Old City and pretend we’re rich like our neighbors. But then we scrounge money for takeout ramen and thrift store clothes.

The location really came in handy after I finished culinary school three years ago and started applying to high end restaurants. There are so many close by that serve the well-to-do of the city. Would have been nice to actually land a job at one of them...

Instead, right now I’m busting my ass to make it to a middle grade Italian restaurant in South Philly.

I’ve only been there a few months, and I hate it.

I have the skills to be a sous chef, or maybe even an executive chef, I know it. But the best I could find was a generic Italian-American place that needed a  _demi chef._ So instead of writing menus, creating recipes, or making main courses, I’m tasked with preparing boring side dishes and cleaning up work stations.

Maybe that’s why I’m always late. My body hates the idea of being there. This job fucking  sucks. But rent money is rent money, I guess.

The bus finally comes and drives me south, and I’m watching every minute tick past 2 o’clock as I ride. The sights outside my window begin to blur together, my mind lost in thought. So lost that I almost miss my stop.

My hand slams onto the stop request button, the bus pauses at the next corner and I yell a friendly “Back door!” so the driver lets me out. 

When I finally make it into Maziano’s, sweating and short of breath, I’m 28 minutes late this time. Better than Tuesday when I actually  did miss my bus stop, I think to myself.

But my relief is short lived when the owner stops me before I can even reach the kitchen.

“You’re late,  _again_ ,” says Cassian.

“I know, I’m sorry!” I hope he can hear that I do mean my apology. Coming across as unprofessional isn’t my favorite feeling. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“No, no it won’t,” he says with a sigh. “I’m sorry too. You’re fired.”

I can’t say that I’m completely shocked, and honestly I deserve this. I haven’t been pulling my weight here, instead I’ve been moping around for months feeling like I don’t belong. Someone else would better suit the position, I know he’s right. But it still stings.

“Oh. It’s okay, I... I get it. Thank you for the opportunity here at Maz’s, I’m sorry for letting you down.”

Fuck. Back to square one, applying to restaurant after restaurant.

I decide to walk home, it isn’t too terribly far, plus I’m dreading returning to Rose so early. On a regular shift I wouldn’t be home until close to midnight. Can’t stall  that long, but I can drag out the inevitable conversation a little.

Strolling through the Italian Market, I grab a few groceries and throw them in my backpack. I shouldn’t be treating myself to nice bread and cheese now that I’m unemployed, but I fully intend on eating my feelings as soon as I get home. Carbs and cheese can cure a  lot of heartbreaks.

Eventually my feet find their way to our neighborhood, and I’m still not ready to face reality so I stop by a newspaper stand.

“Camel Blues and a paper, please,” I tell the man. I hand over some cash, he hands back the cigarettes, newspaper, and change.

I stop at the park to smoke and read the classifieds. A crisp breeze is swirling the orange and brown leaves, and I grab a seat on a bench. Might as well start the job search now, seeing as my schedule today has been completely cleared. Digging in my backpack I find a pen, and start circling things that sound interesting while lazily smoking with my other hand.

One listing for executive chef. A few more for sous. One for a live-in personal assistant/chef in New York City, which I’ll never apply to but the salary sounds nice so I circle it anyway. A couple catering options. A ton of line cook positions, which would be a step down but I’m desperate so I’ll take what I can get.

I’m on my third cigarette when I hear my name being called from across the park. It’s Rose.  _ Fuck. _

“Hey! I was just on my way over to Finn’s and-“ she stops herself, realizing I shouldn’t be here, I should be at work until late tonight. She scans the scene and sees my newspaper and open pack of smokes. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Cassian wasn’t mean about it, but I definitely got fired,” I confess with hunched shoulders.

We sit for a few minutes and pore over the newspaper together, and she helps me narrow down different listings. I skim past the one in NYC, but she stops me.

“No I think you should apply to that one anyway! It sounds so fun. You’ve always wanted to live there!”

“Our lease isn’t up for over two months though, I figured I’d just apply here in Philly.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that...” she says nervously. “I’ve been debating moving back to my parents’ in New Jersey and starting my masters at the beginning of term in January. Am I insane? I think I must be, but I keep putting it off and now we’re both at a crossroads in life ya know? Like maybe we both need to make some new moves?”

I can tell from the look on her face that she’s been feeling this way for a while but hasn’t found the right opportunity to bring it up. Losing my job  and my roommate back to back wasn’t how I planned to spend today, Jesus.

“Rose I think that’s amazing. You’re so smart, and you’re gonna crush those Engineering bros. I fully support you going back to school!” I try my best to mask my disappointment with my very real pride.

“Really? I didn’t know how to bring it up before, we’re in such a groove here in Philly. But now you can apply to jobs anywhere and everywhere, that’s super exciting.”

And she’s right, I’m suddenly not tethered down by a job or roommate, and I currently have no romantic interests. Sort of floating in the wind waiting for whatever my next chapter is.

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll put in some applications here and some in New York, and see what happens. I’ve got a few months to work it out.”

I hope my tone is convincing, but I’m more terrified than exhilarated at this point.

Rose leaves to visit our friend in the Gayborhood, and I go back to chain smoking and looking at what I’ve circled in the paper.

My eyes linger on the live-in NYC position. That would kill a lot of birds with one stone... New job, new apartment, new city...

I grab my phone and start writing an email to the listed address: phasma@kren.arts.com


	2. Chapter 2

The first phone interview went surprisingly well. A very proper sounding British woman on the other end of the line listened while I rattled off my references, experience in different kitchens, and types of cuisines I specialize in.

I sort of had to bullshit my way through the personal assistant aspect of the job. It’s definitely not a position I’ve held before. But I tried my best to spin the skills I  _do_ have into things that would fit this situation. I’ve helped kitchen managers with tasks before, and running errands for one person should be easier than a whole restaurant. 

She said she’d give me a call later in the week after checking my references, and that she’d better explain the job then.

Gwendoline Phasma, who kept insisting I just call her Phasma, was pretty hush hush about who she was calling on behalf of. At first I thought she was the client, but she explained that it was someone important and that candidates wouldn’t speak with them until the last step in the hiring process. Something about maintaining privacy in the public eye.

I had been doing the interview from our couch, on speakerphone so Rose could sit by for moral support. Both of our eyes got wide at this section of the call and her mouth silently worded “CELEBRITY??”

As I finished the call, I watched Rose from the corner of my eye, frantically typing away on her laptop.

“Oh my god, it’s so obvious,” she said when I finally put away my cell. “Phasma’s email! She’s not doing a very good job of hiding who she works for.”

“What did Google tell you?”

“Well, all I typed into the search bar was kren+art and this is the only thing that fits the NYC setting,” she said while turning the computer towards me.

My stomach dropped to the floor.

I looked at the screen and couldn’t believe a person like  _that_ could be real. She showed me photo after photo of the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

Raven hair falling in waves to just above his shoulders. Sharp angled features. Cheeks speckled with birthmarks. Hazel brown eyes that seemed to pierce straight through camera lenses. He was ungodly sexy, and looked  _extremely_ dark and intimidating.

“Who is that?!”

“Kylo Ren? It seems like he’s some big deal in the New York art scene. Wikipedia says that’s not even his real name but that’s how he’s known now. He works with a couple galleries in the states, and he’s had exhibitions all around the world. Holy shit, what if he’s a millionaire!!” Rose was more excited about this than I seemed to be.

She was trying to show me photos of his paintings and mixed media pieces, but my brain couldn’t get past his face. Or the warm feeling spreading from my stomach down towards my inner thighs. How could I possibly work for,  _and live with_ _,_ a man of that caliber? Part of me wanted to say fuck it, the salary isn’t worth it, I can’t put myself into this awkward situation.

And yet here I am, two days later, back on the phone with Phasma.

“Your references speak highly of your cooking skills, which is an important aspect of the job. The client works odd hours and long days, forgets to eat on a regular basis. If hired, you’d prepare consistent meals, and help maintain a nutritional diet. And also prepare food for any social gatherings and events.”

“And I would live nearby or on the premises?” My mind thinks back to the one reference I  _didn’t_ list, Cassian. They didn’t need to know about my chronic lateness at my last job, and living in the same building would make getting to work a  lot easier.

“Correct. There is enough space that the personal assistant has their own living quarters. Now, about that... You do not seem to have any prior work history in this area, but you’re the only good applicant with cooking experience. And frankly, we’ve been through multiple people in this position and can’t get one to stick. I thought this time I’d speak with less PAs and focus on trying to find a good chef who could also run errands.”

Oh god, not only is he hot as fuck, but apparently he either fires everyone or is so terrible that they quit. I should say no. This seems like too much trouble.

“I’m formally extending an offer for an in-person interview so that you may meet the client and myself. Does next week work for you?”

I should say no. I should say no. I should say no.

“Yes, I’m available. I can take the train into the city on whatever day works best for you.” My mouth speaks the words even though my brain is screaming a different narrative.

“Perfect. I’ll make the arrangements and email you the details. Until next week,” she says before hanging up the line.

My hands are clammy and my pulse is racing, as if my body is sensing imminent danger. What am I getting myself into?

“NICE!” yells Rose from her spot on the couch. “You’re going to nail the interview! And oh my god I’m so excited that you’re finally moving to the city, I’m going to visit constantly and we’ll have so much fun.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I don’t have the job yet.”

Do I even want the job? I should be focusing on landing a better chef position in an actual restaurant. And yet I’m drawn to this idea more than I should be.

I receive the email from Phasma, giving me a date, time, and location. It’s not too late to back out, but I don’t. After some deep breathing, I respond and let her know I’ll be there.

Four days later, I exit the train station in Manhattan and make my way to a subway that will take me to the right neighborhood. The address speaks volumes: this man has  money . 

Leaving the subway, my dress shoes click against the concrete stairs and bright morning sunlight streams down between tall buildings. I wander for a few blocks, I’m early and nervous, and let my feet find a small corner park nearby.

The brisk autumn air keeps me from sweating through my blouse, thank god. New York has such a hopeful feeling in the morning, I can see it radiating off the strangers that pass on the sidewalks. So many people chasing dreams. I smoke a few cigarettes, hoping I’ll inhale courage and exhale nerves, and then check my hair and makeup in a compact.

It’s now or never.

Once again I debate backing out, but decide I won’t let a handsome cruel man intimidate me. I want a high paying job and I want to move to the city. I can do this. Eventually I find the correct building and approach with more courage than I thought I could muster.

A doorman greets me at the entrance.

“Mornin’ miss. May I help ya?” he asks politely, with a thick Brooklyn accent and genuine smile.

“I have an appointment with Gwendoline Phasma,” I reply politely, and less confidently add in “... and Kylo Ren.”

His eyes are warm and kind, and I’m sure that someone somewhere is probably lucky to call him dad or grandpa.

“Ah, they need anotha one already? Good grief, that’s three in two months. I’m sure you’ll do great sweetheart. Head on inside, elevators are on the left. Top floor.”

“Which unit number? Phasma didn’t specify,” I ask.

“Whole floor is his, miss. Good luck to ya.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Here we go.

The sound of my heels on the white marble tiles echoes throughout the lobby. Gorgeous landscapes hang on the walls inside ornate gold frames, tall ceilings hold multiple glittering chandeliers. To the right is a small sitting area with plush red velvet chairs and a fireplace, and I catch myself gawking at my surroundings.

What am I doing here? I definitely don’t deserve to walk through this building, let alone  _live_ in it.

A shaky hand presses the up button next to the elevator doors.

I step in, and hit the highest floor number on the panel before I chicken out. The ride up is swift, and I don’t realize I’m barely breathing until the doors finally open on the forty sixth floor.

In front of me is a short hallway that leads to a massive black door, and as I step out of the elevator I take a few calming breaths. It’s just an interview, and if I don’t get it then I don’t get it. No big deal. Right?

I make my way to the door and before I reach up to knock, it opens.


	3. Chapter 3

“Welcome, come in,” says a tall blonde in a blazer.

I’m assuming this is Phasma, based on the accent. She’s very polite and seems nice, but intimidating none the less. She’s got legs for days, a strong looking frame, and is wearing a beautifully tailored silver-grey women’s suit. Cropped blonde hair frames her face, and bright blue eyes look down at me as I enter the loft.

She leads the way through the foyer and I try my best to walk with confidence. Pretend like I belong.

The apartment is a stark contrast to the lobby, which was warm and classic. Everything around me is minimalist and modern, with bold blacks and whites. Splashes of color are only found on the many large canvases lining the walls. There are no family photos or knick knacks, everything has been purposefully styled. It’s like walking through the pages of Architectural Digest, and it’s  _gorgeous_ _,_ but it definitely doesn’t give a homey vibe.

I catch a glimpse of Central Park through the giant windows at the far end of the penthouse, and it takes a lot of effort to not gawk like downstairs. I don’t get to see much more, as Phasma leads me into an office at the front of the apartment.

“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the rectangular conference table. I take a seat at the end, and she sits in the chair to my right. “Thank you for making the trip to see us today, and I appreciate your punctuality.”

Us. To see  _us_ _._ My brain fixates on the word. It’s just me and her right now, and my anxiety starts creeping back as I wonder when the dark man will be joining.

“Of course. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“I also appreciate your discretion, and flexibility with my inability to speak of my employer over the phone. If offered the position, you would be working here, for Kylo Ren. I’m his agent- I help plan exhibitions and broker sales of his work. The man has incredible talent, he’s truly going to be a master of his time. But, with that said. He is a... difficult man. He gets lost in his work, and doesn’t have time for errands or eating. It’s in my best interest as an agent to keep him healthy and working. I need someone here, on site, making sure the household is running smoothly and that he’s not wasting away in his studio. Does this sound like a position that interests you?”

I take a few moments to consider the proposition. It’s a far cry from working in the hot and hectic kitchen of a restaurant, and I’m not used to running around town at someone’s beck and call. But the salary. And the penthouse. And the undoubted connections I could make in the city. It’s all very tempting.

“Yes, I think it could be a good fit. I would love to be considered.”

I’m starting to feel pretty good about all of this as Phasma details the salary and benefit specifics, and we go over schedules and dietary preferences. We discuss which errands would be done daily, weekly, and monthly. She lets me know which foods he hates, like bananas and cilantro. And the other employees I might interact with, like his driver or the housekeepers. I’m getting into the mindset of joining the team.

Suddenly my heart stops.

I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

My stomach clenches, my spine stiffens, my senses are on high alert as I await the inevitable.

And then  _he_ walks into the room.

Just as dark and handsome as Rose’s internet search, but so much more intense in person. His raven hair is a beautiful mess, and he runs a hand through it as he walks to the other end of the conference table. He’s more dressed down than Phasma, which is understandable since we’re in  _his_ home. A black cotton tee clings to his obviously toned body, black jeans and black boots finish the look.

The only color I see comes from his hazel eyes, and the small paint flecks dotted here and there and everywhere. His cuticles have the remnants of yesterday’s chosen colors. The black shirt has smears of today’s pallet. Sprinkled amongst his birthmarks are tiny splatters of whatever he had just been working so intently on.

I have to remind myself to breathe.

He doesn’t sit opposite me at the table, instead he stands powerfully behind the chair and places his two large hands on the back. His eyes stare me down, and I try my best to keep his gaze for as long as I can. Thankfully Phasma speaks first.

“Ah, Mr. Ren, I’m glad you’ve joined us. I believe I’ve found your new head of household staff. This is-“

“I’ve read her resume,” he cuts her off sharply. 

His demanding eyes stay on my face.

“Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. I really appreciate the opportunity, and I’d love to discuss y-“

“You have no experience,” he cuts me off this time.

_Finally_ his sharp eyes leave mine and he directs his attention to my right. “Phasma, why is it so hard for you to find quality applicants. I’m not dealing with this shit today, I’m trying to finish a piece for Pryde’s gallery. Bother me when it’s worth being bothered by.”

His words are harsh and I realize that only one of his sentences was actually directed towards me. It stings when he turns to walk back out of the room without a second glance my way. What a fucking  _ prick. _

So it seems the doorman and Phasma were right, he’s impossible to work for and no one sticks around. I should be glad to dodge the bullet. But instead I get  _angry_ _._ I woke up at 4 am to get ready and then sat on a shitty train for two hours, just to be treated like this? I don’t think so.

“I have plenty of experience,  _thank you_ _,”_ I snap back as professionally as possible.

He stops in his tracks in the doorway, doesn’t pivot his body back to us. He simply turns his head to the side to acknowledge I’ve spoken, and stays eerily silent. His aura is slightly terrifying but I’m also electrically charged by his presence.

He leaves us without another word.

It takes a moment to catch my breath, as I stare at the empty doorway where he just stood. Finally I turn my attention back to Phasma and collect my belongings. I’m ready to get the fuck back to Philly and out of this hostile environment. Line cook doesn’t sound so terrible right now.

“Thank you for your time, it was a privilege to meet you,” I offer a firm handshake and a forced smile.

I keep my cool for as long as possible, and only let my eyes water once I’m in the safety of the closed elevator. What a waste of fucking time. What a fucking  asshole. I blink away the tears before they fall.

The kind doorman opens the oversized golden glass door as I’m making my way outside, and I’m sure my defeated face tells him all he needs to know.

“Don’t take it personal, doll.”

“Thanks, you’re the nicest person I’ve met today.”

I meekly wave to him as I start my journey back home.

A couple hours later, I’m finally out of the Amtrak station and headed to the apartment. As I sit in the Uber, I check my email and realize I’ve gotten one from Phasma. Time stamped almost 45 minutes ago.

“After a discussion with Mr. Ren, it has been decided that the position is yours if you are still interested. Please contact me with an available start date and I will work out your moving details. An acceptance is expected by the end of the week, or it shall be assumed you’ve declined the offer. Thank you again for today’s meeting.”

_ Fuck. _


	4. Chapter 4

“You have to accept!” Rose is ecstatic.

I’m not so sure though. Going after legit restaurant jobs should be my number one priority right now. I didn’t ace my way through culinary school just to make some douchebag artist food he won’t even eat.

But, on the other hand...

Living in a building like his is something out of a dream. A view of Central Park? Insane. And the salary is almost  _triple_ what I’ve been making in Philadelphia. Plus I wouldn’t have rent or utility bills, so I’d be able to really start saving money. And working for a man that wealthy almost certainly guarantees meeting people with connections. This could be my foot in the door of the higher class culinary world.

But god damn, Kylo Ren is such a  _ dick_ _._ Is he worth it?

Do I sell my soul to work for the devil?

“I don’t know, Rose... You didn’t meet the man. He’s absolutely terrible. He was so fucking rude, staring at me like that and then barely even acknowledging my existence. I can’t imagine what it would be like dealing with him all the time. Living with him! No wonder they’ve gone through so many employees, he’s a total nightmare.”

“You’re going to pass on a PENTHOUSE APARTMENT off of CENTRAL PARK and a salary THAT YOU’VE NEVER DREAMED OF because you’re scared of a MAN?! I know you better than this! Men aren’t shit. You can handle whatever he throws your way, I know it.”

Rose beams at me with that sweet face and I know she means it.

I wish I had that much confidence in the situation, but a part of me knows she’s right. I can do this.

“Okay.  Fuck, okay. I’m doing it. I’ll email Phasma and accept the offer. This is insane.”

After typing out a formal acceptance stating that I’d be pleased to start on December 1st, Rose takes me out for celebratory drinks with the guys. We make our way to our favorite queer bar and spend the night drinking and dancing.

Rose is pretty straight, and Finn and Poe have been seriously dating for a while now, so I’m the only one really scanning the crowd for contenders. I don’t see any of my type when it comes to women or androgynous folk; and know that I won’t find my type of man in this bar either.

“Don’t worry about it,” says a sloppy Poe in my ear. “Soon you’ll be getting laid every night in New Yooooork!” He sings the last part of the sentence. “You’ll have millions of men, women, and enbies to choose from. Now let’s drink to that!”

They all take turns buying me rounds and we cheers to the adventures we’ll have in a new city when they all come to visit. Soon I don’t care about getting laid anymore, I focus on my friends. It’s going to be so hard to not see these people every day or even week, and I’m nervous about the new job being too consuming to make new acquaintances.

I savor this night, and my perfect little friend group.

The rest of November goes by in a blur.

Rose and I pack up the apartment, and it’s hard to box up our memories. There are just so many, big and small. We’ve been here for almost four years.

I think back on our time together.

She saw me through a really nasty breakup with my last serious girlfriend, and the petty fights with a few boyfriends. She ate all of my test dishes when I was working my way through culinary school. She helped me write silly notes on the walls and then we hid them under wallpaper for someone to find in the future. She held back my hair when we partied too hard. She listened with an open mind when I read her my poetry. She just... made my days brighter.

I can’t believe I’m about to trade in a roommate like this for one like Kylo Ren.

Finally all of the boxes are packed and labeled, and Rose and I sit on the kitchen floor of our perfect, empty, little apartment.

I light a small joint, hit it once, and pass it her way.

“I’m going to miss this, so fucking much,” I exhale smoke while speaking, with tears in the corners of my eyes.

“New chapters are scary, but they’re exciting. I can just tell we’re both headed in the right direction. But I’m going to miss this too, our little home. I promise I’ll visit in the city, and you gotta come save me from my parents and schoolwork every once in a while too.”

We pass the joint back and forth for a bit, drawing out the goodbye.

Eventually we’re joined by Finn, who’s driving Rose and her Uhaul to Jersey. It takes forever but we bring her boxes, and all of the furniture, down the three flights of stairs and pack everything in like Tetris. I was told my new living quarters would be furnished and I’m not surprised. I’m sure Kylo Ren doesn’t want my shitty Goodwill furniture in his swanky apartment.

As we’re finishing, a second moving truck pulls up the block followed closely by a sleek black town car.

Gwendoline Phasma steps out of the back of the car, as beautiful as ever, in black heels and a stylish red pantsuit with matching lipstick.

“Afternoon. These gentlemen here will pack your belongings and move them to New York, you will ride with me and we can discuss details along the way. They’ll handle everything here.” She pauses. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

She’s curt and businesslike, but I appreciate that she notices how  _ not ready _ I am for this. Emotionally at least. She steps back into the car and disappears behind dark tinted windows while I say goodbyes to my friends.

We hug and make many promises of a reunion in the near future, and solidify our New Years Eve plans for the end of the month. I do my best not to cry, Phasma doesn’t seem like the type that enjoys vulnerability and we’re about to be stuck in a car together for almost two hours.

I pull it together, squeeze Rose tightly one more time, and send them on their way.

Cheers to new adventures.

Eventually I nod to the moving guys, let them know which unit was mine, and apologize for the lack of elevator in the building. As I get into the town car, I once again feel out of place. Phasma is always so polished and chic, and here I am in purposefully ripped jeans and a Nine Inch Nails tee under my coat. It’s moving day, and the outfit seemed right this morning, but now I feel small and awkward.

She doesn’t seem to notice, or care if she does. The driver gives me a polite smile from the rear view mirror and then we’re off.

As we travel up the highway leading to New York City, she hands me a manila folder full of papers. We go over the contract together, my official title is  Household Manager, and then the benefits package. She listens to all of the questions I have, and explains everything thoroughly. I sign and initial all of the appropriate places. Next I fill out the direct deposit form for my paychecks, and then move on to the last paper-clipped stack of documents.

A non-disclosure agreement?

“Oh,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting something like this.”

My brows are furrowed and my anxiety is back, wondering why a gag order is necessary for an assistant. How terrible is this guy?

“It’s a standard agreement. When working for someone with his level of fame and fortune, it’s to be expected. Everyone has to sign one.” Phasma gestures towards herself and her driver, and then turns back to me. “Take your time, read it over.”

I take a few moments to skim through the legal jargon, and honestly it all blurs together for me. I gather that during and after my employment, I’m legally not allowed to speak to the press or public about Kylo Ren. Okay fine, the dude is private, I can handle that. I keep reading.

One clause in particular makes my mouth dry.

_“In the event of personal relations...”_

Personal relations. He has a fucking  _sex clause_ built into this gag order? What an arrogant man, assuming any employee is fair game. I laugh to myself while initialing that particular line, confident that this won’t be an issue since the man already loathes me.

After all of the paperwork is filled out and neatly placed back into the folder, Phasma assures that she’ll have copies made and sent to me. The rest of the ride is spent in silence, other than her constant typing on a laptop. The woman is always working. I wordlessly wonder what she does for fun, if she ever gives herself a break.

Soon enough, the New York City skyline comes into view. My new home.

The driver winds us through the bustling borough until we’re in front of the familiar grand apartment building. Before I exit, Phasma gives me a set of keys and assures that the movers won’t be far behind us with my belongings.

“You have my cell number, contact me if you have any questions. And... good luck.” It’s brief but sincere.

I step out of the town car and wave goodbye to the friendly driver as they pull away.

“Yous again! I guess they liked ya, miss,” says the friendly doorman with a broad smile. His accent is so adorably New York and it immediately makes me feel at home here, at least for the moment.

“We’ll see how long it lasts, but yeah I’m gonna give it a go.” I tell him my name and ask for his, since we’re about to see each other on a consistent basis.

“James,” he says while I pull out a cigarette to calm my nerves. “But my friends call me Jimmy, so yous can call me Jimmy. We seem like we’re cut from the same cloth more than the folks that live here. Where ya from, miss?”

“Philly, and  you’re from Brooklyn based on the accent. It’s nice to talk with someone real in this city. The people I work with are so stuffy.”

“Born and raised!” he says with pride.

We chat in the crisp winter air as I finish my cigarette and prepare to confront reality. I live  here now. In Manhattan. With Kylo Ren.

Eventually I finish and put the butt in a receptacle near the door. Jimmy holds it wide open and I stare into the lobby, keys clasped in my clammy hand.

“Good luck, miss.”


	5. Chapter 5

I watch the numbers on the elevator go up and up.

9... 10... 11...

Phasma left me with a list of contacts, and a credit card for groceries or whatever errands I’m sent on. The plastic has a heavy, expensive weight to it. And it feels like a brick in my pocket.

24... 25... 26...

I wonder what sort of mood he’ll be in today, how many sentences he’ll  _grace_ me with. Such an asshole.

38... 39... 40...

Why does thinking of his large, paint flecked hands make my thighs warm?

46\. [Ding]

The elevator opens and the giant black door stares me down from the end of the hallway. I slowly make my way towards it, and this time it doesn’t swing open. I know this is my new home, but it feels... dark and ominous instead of reposeful and inviting.

I raise a hand and knock. No response.

I knock a little louder. No response.

The keys are slick in my nervous hand, but I give myself a mental pep talk along the lines of “Grow a fucking pair” and then start trying to figure out which of these keys fits the lock.

I’m about to try the third key out of four, when I suddenly hear the lock turn from the other side, and the door snaps open.

My eyes are staring straight into his chest, and I’m extremely aware of the close distance between our two bodies.

I look up at his face to find him staring down at me with those piercing eyes and I suddenly feel  so small. Under his gaze I feel myself shrinking. Fading into dust on the floor would be preferable at this point. How can one man be so fucking intense all the time?

But I also can’t stop myself from looking at the cerulean and goldenrod paint splatters on his hands. Can’t stop myself from letting butterflies run rampant in my stomach.

“Hi,” I almost whisper.

“Come in.”

He turns and walks into the apartment before I can speak again.

As I pass the office from my interview and follow him towards the living area, I realize that my first glimpses of the layout were all wrong. The front door isn’t at the far end of the park-facing windows- it’s in the  _middle_ of the entire apartment. I see now that the elevator entrance is located directly in the center of the apartment with all of the rooms encircling it. The space is so  so much larger than I realized.

“The kitchen and dining area are in the northwest corner. There are three guest bedrooms, one on each side of the house but this one. I don’t care, just pick a room for yourself. The master bedroom is in the southeast corner and my studios are along the east side. They’re all off limits, do you understand?”

His tone is extremely severe, and it turns my legs to gelatin. Fuck, I’m going to have to get over this eventually. I can’t spend the rest of my time here being terrified of the man.

“Yes of course, I understand.”

“Explore, use the different rooms, I don’t give a shit. Just do not  _ever_ bother me while I’m working. Be seen and not heard, little mouse.” 

Neither of us are sitting in the luxe and lush living room, and I doubt the man ever relaxes on these couches or enjoys the park view. I feel as if I’m being scolded like a child and I want to give him sass right back. But I feel like a different approach might be best.

So like I’ve been told, I don’t bother continuing the conversation with him. Seen and not heard, huh? I can do that.

I give the man a dose of his own medicine and turn on my heels. Walking away from him feels like a rush of adrenaline through my veins. Like I’ve done something illicit. I can see why he does it.

Part of me wants to turn around and see the look on his face, but I don’t. Each step I take gives me a little more courage. I decide right in that moment that I’m done being his  _little mouse_ to play with.

He did say I could explore, so that’s what I do. I start at the living room on the west side of the home, and work my way counterclockwise. I skip the office, not in the mood to relive that day. Next I find the dining room, and it’s gorgeous. A large black table with an ornate black candelabra in the center. Lovely sets of china and crystal are already placed gracefully at each seat.

An open doorway leads into the kitchen and I want to gasp.

It’s beautiful. And it’s my new workspace. I could cry.

This is the kitchen out of every chef’s dream. Copper pots and pans hang from hooks and catch the sun through the many windows. Multiple stoves and ovens, countless appliances hiding behind cabinets, every utensil and tool I could ever imagine needing.

There’s a large cabinet door that I realize actually leads to a hidden walk-in pantry and wine/liquor storage. And it’s... pretty empty. Except for the booze. I leave the pantry to turn my attention to the fridge, and find it in the same state. The man lives off of takeout containers and whiskey, apparently.

Okay, mental note, grocery shopping is at the top of my to do list. Time to restock the, well, everything.

I finally pull myself away and keep working around the apartment. First guest bedroom is between the kitchen and master, and I don’t feel like being just beyond a wall from Kylo Ren, so I skip it even though it’s a beautiful silver and grey color scheme.

I pass what I assume to be his room next. The door is closed but it’s the last room before the hallway turns and this is the southeast corner. I’ve lost track of the number of bathrooms so far, and there are so many giant windows facing different sections of the city. Lots of seating areas to gaze upon whichever part of New York you fancy.

This eastern hallway has many closed doors, and I guess these are his different studios. Painting, for sure. And Rose showed me some of his mixed media, so I’m guessing that there’s a darkroom and photography studio here too.

I do spot a gym with various workout equipment, though. Another guest bedroom, this one decorated in shades of red. Burgundy, blood, cherry, crimson. It’s seductive.

I turn along the hallway again, making my way along the north side. I peek my head into a theater room, which looks like a mini movie theater with seats and a screen. But the next room over is my absolute favorite so far.

The library.

Books floor to ceiling, ladders on wheels to help reach specific tomes high on the shelves. There are a few reading chairs and a plush couch near a fireplace, and the room has a very cozy feel to it. Which is a surprising change from the coldness of the hyper-stylized apartment. It feels like actual humans read here. Live here.

My hands run along the bindings while my eyes scan some of the many titles. It’s an impressive collection. Classic, modern, history, poetry, philosophy, arts, it’s all here. I have a feeling I’ll be spending a lot of time exploring this room.

Next door is the third guest bedroom, larger than the other two. This one is all white everything. It’s a lovely break from the usual dark and broody color scheme of the penthouse. I decide that this is  my room. Not only is it the most spacious and has the biggest windows, but it’s the absolute furthest from Kylo Ren’s room. I’ll take it.

I turn right out of my new room and find the doors to the terrace which overlooks the park, and then the far end of the living room that spans most of the west side of the building. I’m back where I started. And thankfully he’s no where to be found. It’s probably easy to avoid each other in this grand space.

I’ll try my best to do that.


	6. Chapter 6

The movers haven’t arrived yet, so I decide to tackle the grocery list in my mind. Food shopping is one of my most favorite things in the world, and I could use the pick me up right now.

Grabbing my coat, backpack, and keys, I head out the door without a word. I don’t need to let him know when I come and go, right? He said not to bother him when he’s working and all of the studio doors are shut. I won’t be missed, I’m sure.

Forty six floors later I’m back in the lobby, and happy to see Jimmy at his post.

“Hey! I’m headed to Chelsea, what do ya think- bus or F train?” I ask with one of the first real smiles of the day.

“I’d go with the bus personally, but miss, Mr. Ren keeps a driver on standby. Start gettin’ used to the perks!”

Oh shit that’s right. I’m living in a different world now, and I don’t have to schlep grocery bags home on a bus or subway like the common folk.

I pull out my phone and the list of contacts from Phasma, and send a text to someone named Vic.

One cigarette later, a black car pulls in front of the building.

Absolute eye candy steps out from the driver’s side and walks to open the back door for me. I can’t help but admire his muscular frame under the clothes as he moves. Black suit, black shirt, no tie. He carries himself like a man’s man. Hot as hell, frankly.

He removes his shades, and bright green eyes look to me as a smile spreads across his face.

“Where to, miss?”

“Chelsea Market, if you don’t mind? I don’t really know how all of this works. But I thought I’d get groceries if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” he says with a chuckle, and I notice the dimple on his left cheek. “With all of the errands and events, we’re going to see each other daily. Whenever, wherever, I’ll take you.”

This is just a part of my job now, but I feel a slight blush creep onto my cheeks. I tell myself it’s due to the winter wind.

I wave bye to Jimmy and slide into the car. Vic shuts the door for me, and makes his way back to the driver’s seat. He’s playing jazz on the radio, and it’s an old song I know. I smile to myself while we drive south through the city.

Eventually he brings us to Chelsea, and drops me near the market entrance. I promise him that I don’t need a chaperone, and wave him away to take a break for a while.

I make my way inside and I’m too excited to formulate a game plan, so I find myself happily wandering. Is there anything more magical than a market full of vendors selling amazing goods?

Phasma had told me a few of the foods Kylo dislikes, but not much else. And had also warned that he wasn’t a fan of any of the previous home cooks, and don’t be surprised if he doesn’t always eat the things I make. But I’m determined to be the best at my job.

And everyone has some sort of food weakness. Everyone has cravings. I’ll figure his out.

I drop by a butcher for cuts of meat, and I go for the good stuff. The slick black credit card feels powerful when I hand it to the man behind the counter. But he doesn’t care one way or another, meat is meat.

Everyone here is so polite and real. Thank god I can fill my days with moments like this, instead of always being stuck in that apartment with the intense man.

Next is the cheese shop, followed by produce. I also stop by one of my favorite stands for spices. The counter is filled with dozens of gold bowls, each with mounds of different blends and whole spices. Beautiful colors and smells and textures. I splurge and get every spice and blend that calls to me.

The last stop is the bakery for a few types of bread. And bagels, god the  _bagels_ _._ New York’s finest food, if you ask me.

When my arms are full with paper bags, I finally give Vic a text and let him know I’m ready. He’s back within 3 minutes, and dutifully helps me load the groceries in the car. 

“You had fun, I see,” he remarks after we’re both settled and on the road.

“Oh, yeah, the fridge is basically empty so I went a little crazy I guess.”

“I meant you finally look happy,” he smiles from the rear view, and all I can see are his mischievous green eyes looking back at me.

He’s right. There’s just something about picking out the perfect produce, and talking with vendors about the bounties from their farms, or taste testing cheese just because. The colors and smells are bewitching, and I could waste hours thinking about good food.

We spend the rest of the drive listening to jazz and I go over recipes in my mind.

When we return, I basically have to fight Vic to let me bring up the groceries myself.

“Vic. Seriously, I got this. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he says with a coy smile before driving away.

Jimmy holds the door and I make my way inside, arms packed with paper sacks. Forty six floors later, and I have an awkward time unlocking the door but I actually get it open this time. Feeling victorious for the first time today, I make my way to the kitchen. Along the way I notice my moving boxes in the living room.

I’m in my element now, putting away and prepping food. I might be learning the ropes on personal assistant, and I’m not used to rubbing elbows with all of these people, but  _kitchens_ I can handle.

Produce is washed and prepped for a few recipes I have in mind. Meat and cheese is stored. I’m putting spices and bread in the pantry when I hear footsteps in the other room.

I poke my head out of the door.

It’s him, sulking about of course. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for me to leave.

“Oh, hi, sorry. I got food? There was like, no food, so...”

There’s an awkward silence as I stand in the entry of the pantry.

“Can you move?”

“Oh. Right. Sure,” I say while making a wide berth around him and back to the counter where I’m getting ready for dinner. Awkward. Always so awkward around him.

He’s gone for a moment and then returns with what I’m assuming is a three finger pour of whiskey. Which is  not a meal, and precisely what Phasma warned would happen.

“I’m going to make dinner, I can keep it warm until whenever you’re ready. Do you like Italian?”

He stares me down and I do my best not to shrink. His perfect pout sips his drink while looking at the ingredients in front of me.

“Italian?” He’s condescending, which isn’t surprising.

“Yes. Italian. You know, food from  _Italy_.” My tone isn’t exactly polite, I’m growing very tired of him speaking down to me. This is one area I know I have the upper hand. He can’t make me feel incompetent when it comes to cooking.

But nonetheless, his face is intense as usual. He turns and walks away from me, like  _always_ . The man lives for power trips, I’m sure.

But I feel confident in my skills, so I wash my hands and begin. I think back to how happy the market made me feel, and channel that energy into my food preparation.

I sprinkle flour across the black marble, it falls like snow. Soon I’m making pasta dough by hand, kneading until it’s smooth and pliable. I wrap it to rest in the fridge and turn my attention to the produce and cheeses.

There are plenty of knives to choose from in this grand kitchen, but mine just feel right in my hands as I chop heirloom tomatoes, a rainbow of red and orange and yellow. I slice chunks of mozzarella. Grate the parmesan and pecorino. Rip leaves of basil.

I turn my attention to the stove and begin reducing a balsamic sauce on one burner, and sautéing eggplant with garlic and onion on another. The kitchen starts to fill with mouthwatering smells.

Inside a cabinet I find a pasta roller, and begin the process of pressing the dough into thin ribbons. Soon my knife is cutting long strips of noodles that will get thrown into boiling water. 

Once all of the necessary parts are cooked, I begin the assembly. The eggplant dish gets chunks of tomato and capers, the salad gets drizzled with the balsamic reduction. The pasta is full of cheese and pepper, simply dressed but delicious nonetheless.

I’ve made a meal that any sane person would be happy to eat, although Kylo Ren isn’t the average client.

But... now what?

I’m not supposed to disturb him, per his orders.

But I’m supposed to make sure the man gets meals throughout the day, per Phasma’s orders.

I’m contemplating knocking on the studio doors, when thankfully I’m spared. He saunters into the kitchen with his empty glass, obviously headed towards the liquor storage.

“I’ve prepared your dinner, sir,” I say, and he looks over like he’s barely remembered I’d be in the kitchen to begin with. I feel myself shrinking but stop that part of my brain immediately.

He barely looks at the platters on the counter between us.

“Caprese salad, caponata, and cacio e pepe,” I explain.

He stares me down.

“You know,  _Italian,_ ” I do my best not to roll my eyes at his dissatisfaction.

He doesn’t take any of the plates, ignores the meal I’ve prepared by hand the traditional ways. He simply turns and walks into the pantry, comes back with an even fuller glass of whiskey, and leaves in the direction of his studios.

Well fuck you too, dude.

I pour myself a glass of his nice wine, and eat the aromatic food while standing at the kitchen counter, alone.


	7. Chapter 7

After putting away leftovers and cleaning the kitchen, I spend the rest of the evening polishing off a bottle of red wine while unpacking.

The white room feels luxurious, and it’s odd to hang my clothes in the fancy walk-in closet. I still don’t feel like I fit here, and wonder if I ever will.

There aren’t many boxes and bags to unpack, I live a pretty minimalist life. I only keep the things most important to me. My collection of vintage thrift clothes, my hoard of books and poetry journals, photo albums and mementos. 

When I’m finished, it’s well after midnight but I’m satisfied that I have it all organized into my new space. The wine is long gone, and I’m craving a cigarette so I wander down the dark hallway toward the terrace.

It’s magical out here.

It wraps around the northwestern corner of the apartment, and I can see Central Park at one end. The rest looks over skyscrapers of all shapes and sizes, the city glittering with thousands of lights.

There is a grill, table, and chairs. Another sitting area overlooking the park. And most wonderfully, a pool.

I settle into a chair looking north towards Harlem, and put on my thick sweater before lighting a cigarette. The lights and city sounds are overwhelming but somehow also calming.

The smoke mixed with my freezing breath is thick in the air. It smells like it might snow.

When I’m done, I stand from the chair and make my way to the corner with the park view. I’m leaning against the ledge, daydreaming. My mind wanders, thinking about Rose, thinking about recipes, thinking about going out this weekend to get laid, thinking about the paint flecks on  his large hands. I get lost in my thoughts.

I almost don’t hear his footsteps approaching.

“You smoke?” His voice is husky like he hasn’t spoken out loud in hours.

“Yes.” I don’t bother turning around, I know his eyes are on me and I don’t want to shrink away. I was just getting in a good mood again and now here he is to ruin it.

I hear him light his own cigarette and take a long drag. The sound tells me that he’s not far behind my body.

Finally I turn, and lean back against the ledge. We’re only a few feet apart. The wine is coursing through my veins and I’m feeling bold. There’s just something about 2 A.M. that gives one a certain sense of boldness to say the things they wouldn’t in the light of day.

“Why are you like this?” I ask bluntly while lighting a second cigarette.

He scoffs, and I swear I almost saw the hint of a smile cross his face.

“Like what?” He asks, with smoke tendrils beautifully framing his face.

I take a few drags, blowing the smoke over my shoulder into the wind. My eyes explore his face. His own dark brooding eyes seem to have a playful look in this moment and it gives me even more courage.

“Well, you’re kind of an asshole.”

This time he actually  does laugh.

“Yeah, yeah that’s probably true,” he says in that low baritone voice that makes my knees slightly weak. I’m also very aware that this is the first smile of his I’ve ever seen. But it seems sinister, not jovial.

He takes a step towards me, face serious again. Crushes his dropped cigarette with his boot.

I do my best not to shrink away, not to be his _little mouse_. There’s a devilish look in his eyes and I feel like prey being slowly stalked by a wild predator. He takes another step towards me and now we’re only a foot apart.

I can smell the whiskey on his breath, I’m sure he can smell the wine on mine. He towers over me and I do my best to steady my breathing.

“Did you just insult your boss? On your first day of employment?”

I can feel myself growing wet just from his stare alone. His eyes are trailing along my face, and then down my figure. I stand as confidently as I can while he takes me in fully. His eyes are cutting straight through me, but his voice isn’t laced with rage. There’s almost a... seductive quality to his dangerous tone.

I realize now that he  _likes_ my defiance.

My brain quickly wonders if that’s why I got hired in the first place, because I didn’t take his shit during the interview. Maybe none of the others have had the guts to stand up to him. Do I?

My mouth moves before my brain catches up.

“Yeah, I did. Because you’ve been a monster to me.”

“A monster?” His eyes somehow seem even darker.

“Yes.”

My back is fully pressed against the ledge, and I lean back a little more as he steps even closer and puts his hands on the railings on either side of me. I’m trapped, but I have no desire to run.

His face is so close to mine, and I can see every gorgeous detail. There are navy blue dots of paint on his neck, and my eyes trace the curve up to his jaw, and then land on his perfect mouth.

He leans in, and I can’t help it when my eyes flutter closed. But his mouth never meets mine.

“You have no idea,” is all he whispers, a mere breath away from my lips.

My eyes snap open and through the wine haze, I memorize every freckle on his face before he pulls away and leaves.  Like always. I watch his dark muscular frame walk back into the apartment and down the hall out of sight, not a single glance back.

A shaky hand brings my cigarette back up to my mouth, needing some sort of oral fix.

What the actual fuck was that?? I thought the man absolutely hated my presence but that was... Electric. Magnetic. He’s confusing, to say the  _very_ least.

I finish smoking and make my way inside, tip toeing down the northern hallway, thankfully not near his room or studios. Slinking into my bedroom, I lock the door and head into my private bathroom.

In the center is the most beautiful clawfoot bathtub with vintage knobs and faucet. I have a shivering chill running through my body thanks to the winter air on the terrace, plus the adrenaline high of being so close to Kylo.

Running a hot bath and lighting a candle, I eventually drop beneath the bubbles.

I sit for a long time. Thinking over the day. Wondering what tomorrow will bring. Wondering if moments like earlier will only happen at 2 in the morning.

Then my mind starts imagining what would have happened if he  _had_ kissed me on the terrace. How demanding his full lips would be. How perfectly his large hands could grab all the right places. How I’d let him take me right there, for all of Manhattan to see.

Soon the bath grows cold, and I let the chilly water empty. But there is still a wetness between my thighs as I watch the last of the bathwater circle the drain.

So I lay back down, inch my bottom half toward the faucet, and throw my legs up and over the side of the tub. After finding the right temperature and pressure, I relax and let the water cascade over my most private areas.

The water is a poor substitution for a lover’s mouth, but I’m too turned on right now to care.

My hands find my breasts, and I try my best to imagine his rough hands there. I tug at my nipples harshly, knowing he wouldn’t be a gentle fuck. I inch myself even closer to the running water, making sure it hits my clit in just the right way.

My thighs are slowly thrusting upwards towards the water as I pretend it’s his tongue demanding an orgasm, and soon I’m climbing my peak.

I can’t help but let out a few whimpers, knowing he won’t hear since he’s locked away in his studio or asleep by now.

My mind continues to imagine his excruciating stare, and how fierce he would look while thrusting into my cunt.  That’s the thought that throws me over the edge.

The orgasm is intense, and my ears hear my primal moan but I don’t even register making the sound. My legs almost feel numb by the time I finally pull them back into the tub.

One more rinse-off and I wrap a plush towel around my body and make my way towards bed. As I step out of the bathroom my heart almost leaps out of my chest.

I hear the sound of boots outside my door, turning and walking away down the hallway.

_He heard._


	8. Chapter 8

  
I wake a few hours later, around 6:30, and begrudgingly pull myself out of the lush bed. My mind is thick with a wine hangover, and it takes a full minute before I remember...

He may or may not have heard me masturbating while thinking about him.

Fuck.

Well, he can’t  _know_ it was about him. But he’s cocky enough to realize the power he had over me on that terrace in the middle of the night. I’m sure it was written all over my face.

I’m determined to be as professional as possible today.

Show no weakness. That’s my new mantra around here.

After brushing my hair and braiding it into a neat side ponytail that hangs down my shoulder, I throw on some clothes. High waisted dark jeans with a Ziggy Stardust shirt tucked in and a cardigan thrown on top.

I groggily make my way to the opposite end of the apartment towards the kitchen, and take the route through the living room to avoid the master bedroom.

The hangover might be raging in my head and I’m running on like 4 hours of sleep, but I could make coffee in a coma. I worked as a barista to pay my way through school, and of course Kylo has a fancy machine, so I get to work grinding beans and making a brew.

A few minutes later and I have enough espresso to make myself an Americano, and one for Kylo as well. I’ve decided that if he won’t tell me what he wants served around here, I’m making whatever I crave and doubling it. If he wants it, he can have it. If not, whatever, starve I guess.

After sipping half of my mug while admiring the early morning view of the city, I grab some food from the pantry and fridge.

Butter goes into a hot pan, sizzles and melts. Two bagels get tossed in, cut side down. While those are toasting, I fry two eggs and once they’re over-medium I throw a slice of gruyere on each.

Around 7 am, as my hangover is finally receding, Kylo wanders into the kitchen to see a bagel sandwich and coffee waiting for him on the counter.

I’m sitting at the round kitchen table, eating my own breakfast and reading emails on my laptop. I look up to see him even more dressed down than ever- a pair of black sweatpants, a black tee that hasn’t yet been smudged by paint, and black socks on his feet. Even though he’s essentially in pajamas, he has a commanding presence in the room.

“Good morning, sir. Breakfast is on the counter if you’re hungry. I’ll be running errands today. Leftover Italian in the fridge for lunch if you decide you want it. I’ll be back before dinner. Is there anything you need while I’m out?”

I try to keep my tone as professional as possible. Try to blink last night out of existence. Even though he’s fucking  _ gorgeous _ after rolling out of bed.

His voice has that sexy just-woke-up rasp to it as he speaks, which honestly surprises me. I half expected a grunt in response.

“Yes, it’s Thursday so you’ll have to-“

“Pick up your dry cleaning, yes. Anything else?”

Finally having the chance to cut  _ him _ off feels amazing. I’ve already gone over the spreadsheet that details when and where to go for regularly scheduled tasks. Like his dry cleaning on Thursdays, or picking up orders of art supplies on Mondays.

I’m two steps ahead of him, and it’s a wonderful feeling.

The look on his face is half annoyed for being cut off, I think to myself  _serves him right_ , and half pleased that I’m on top of things already. But if he is pleased, he doesn’t voice it.

“No. That’s all I need from you. For now.”

The ‘for now’ lingers in the air, and I tell myself I’m imaging any double meaning.

“Great. I’ll be back with your dry cleaning and a few supplies for your holiday party that’s coming up. The calendar says the 15th, if I’m remembering correctly. If you need anything at all, you have my number.”

He doesn’t continue the conversation, and in my mind I think of how it must be his need to be in control at all times. Cutting him off gave me a small rush of adrenaline and my pleasure is only heightened when I see him take the coffee as he leaves the room.

Alright, we’re getting somewhere slowly. I’ll take the small win.

After cleaning the kitchen I send Vic a text, letting him know I’d appreciate a ride whenever he’s up. He responds immediately and tells me he’ll be outside in ten minutes. This city never sleeps, I swear.

I grab a coat and purse, and make my way down to see my favorite doorman.

“Yous again!” He greets warmly from the lobby, while holding the door open for me to enter the frigid air. He joins me outside and I have a smoke while waiting for the town car.

“Haven’t gotten fired just yet, so you’re stuck with me for now,” I laugh.

“Wouldn’t want ya anywhere else, doll.”

Talking with Jimmy feels comforting, like family. Which is something I have very little of. I’ve been on my own since high school, both parents dead and no siblings to call on. I know I have grandparents out there, but they’ve never tried to find me so why bother.

I try not to dwell on sad thoughts, and instead bring my attention back to the kind man in front of me. We discuss today’s headlines and current events as I finish smoking. Soon, Vic pulls up.

“Where to, my lady?” He says with that charming smile and dimple.

“Well, I’m not really sure. I thought you could help with that. I need to start getting some decorations for the holiday party he throws? And I’m not sure where to shop.”

“Say no more, miss.” He holds my door open and I wave to Jimmy as he closes it behind me.

We spend the day driving to different places, and this time he comes along with me in the shops. It’s nice getting to know him, he’s easy to talk to as I browse linens and ornaments.

I learn that Vic is short for Vicrul, not Victor like I had assumed. He’s from Chicago originally, his family still lives there. He’s worked for Kylo for years, which is rare I’ve gathered. And when I bring up how difficult of a boss he is, assuming we’ll bond over the subject, he tells me that Kylo has been the best employer he’s had.

“Oh yeah the guy’s a dick, don’t get me wrong. He goes through so many employees that can’t tolerate him. But he values loyalty. He knows I’ll always show up for him, so he compensates me well. He’s not  all doom and gloom. Hell, he even wrote a recommendation letter for my niece when she applied to art school.”

Well what the fuck, this is surprising information. Apparently there are more layers to Kylo Ren than I assumed.

“Loyalty, huh? Is that why you’re so nice to me?” I ask while playfully elbowing his side.

“Ah, no. I’d be happy to spend the morning with you under any circumstances, miss.” That mischievous sparkle is back in his eye.

I know my face is blushing but I pretend it’s not there. We make our way out of the last store and back towards the car, Vic carrying all of the bags for me.

Before we get there, I make him stop at a halal food cart so I can grab us lunch. I bypass Kylo’s credit card and use my own this time, and refuse to let Vic pay for the lamb over rice. We eat huddled on a park bench and chat more about our upbringings.

He then drives us to the dry cleaner, and the lady at the counter doesn’t seem at all surprised to see a different assistant picking up the order. She hands me a few garment bags full of all black everything. Typical.

When we finally make it back to the apartment building, it’s early evening. Vic leaves the car out front with Jimmy and helps me bring the shopping haul upstairs.

We’re chatting as I pull everything out of the bags and store them until it’s time to decorate, laughing at little inside jokes we’ve made throughout our day together. And then suddenly the entire mood changes in the room.

“Vicrul.”

“Mr. Ren, nice to see you. I’ll be heading out, let me know if I can be of any service.” Vic’s playful mood is gone and he’s all business now. “Miss,” he says while nodding his head toward me as a goodbye.

He leaves and then it’s just me and Kylo in the dining room. His energy is aggressive as he walks my direction the moment the door closes behind Vic. A few long strides and then he’s directly in my face.

“Do I pay you to flirt with the fucking help?” He doesn’t raise his voice, in fact it’s eerily calm. But his words slice like daggers.

Show no weakness. Show no weakness.

“I  _ am _ the help,” I reply in a bold tone.

One of his large hands reaches towards me and I’m half terrified and half aroused. But instead of lashing out, he gently rubs his thumb and index finger along the end of my braided hair.

“That’s right. Don’t forget your place,” he says while staring straight into my eyes with that devouring look of his.

It’s almost imperceptible, but he gently tugs my hair before dropping it. The minuscule action sends a shockwave of electricity straight between my legs.

I take a small step back, and quickly move to grab his garment bags and thrust them between us. As if the barrier could somehow keep me safe, or less turned on.

He slowly reaches to take them, eyes still locked on me, and I turn away from him before he sees the desire written on my face.

“I’ll go start dinner, then. Sir.”


	9. Chapter 9

Doing my best to ignore the odd sexual tension in the air, I throw myself into dinner prep. It's a bitter cold evening in the city, so a hearty and warm meal sounds comforting. I settle on Indian, hoping the man enjoys spice.

I knead bread dough and leave it to rest while boiling rice and preparing the chicken.

The chunks get sautéed until browned, and then set aside while I work on the aromatics. Onion, garlic, ginger, hot pepper, garam masala, cumin, turmeric, and coriander create a magical smell throughout the kitchen as they heat in the pan. And I'm sure it's pungent enough to waft through the entire apartment.

The chicken gets thrown back in, along with tomatoes, yogurt, and water, and I leave the curry to simmer so all of the flavors come together.

Turning my attention back to the dough, I roll it into oblong teardrop shapes while garlic gets cooked in ghee. I throw the dough into the infused liquid to fry.

When everything is done, saffron rice, murgh kari curry, and garlic naan steam from their respective platters and bowls. The perfect meal for a bitter winter night.

But Kylo is nowhere to be seen.

 _Fuck it._ I throw all caution to the wind, and make my way down the corridor with all of the closed doors. He's got to be in one of these rooms, and I'll be damned if he ignores another good meal. I haven't seen the man eat one piece of food since I've been here. Coffee and liquor definitely don't count.

"Mr. Ren?" My voice echoes down the eastern hallway.

No response, but I expected as much.

I lightly knock on the studio closest to the master bedroom, and hear silence from the other side. I make my way past the home gym and try the next room, no response. Finally on the third door, I hear movement after I lightly tap.

"I thought I was _clear_ , do not disturb me while I work." His voice is stern and laced with real anger this time.

I know I should slowly back away and drop the subject but I'm pretty sick of this treatment and it's only day two.

"Your dinner is ready. I made Indian?" I try to sound as pleasant as possible even though he pisses me off with this condescending attitude.

"I don't like Indian." He's dismissive, as always. And I'm sure he wants me to take this as a cue to leave him alone, but I'm done being dismissed.

"I didn't add any fresh cilantro, promise." Still trying my best to sound pleasant.

There's a silence, and I assume this is him trying to ignore me out of existence. I'm about to turn back to the kitchen in defeat, but then I hear footsteps approaching. I back up quickly, to the opposite wall, before he snaps the door open. He glares down at me.

"Leave it warm, I'm not ready to eat. And next time, just send me a text instead of banging on every door in the god damn house." He slams the door shut again.

Okay. That could have gone worse. I'm still slightly trembling from the door slam, but that could have been a _lot_ worse. And from the sounds of it, he'll actually eat what I made this time? Small victories all around.

Before he shut me out, I caught a quick glimpse of a painting studio.

Stacks of canvases were piled against walls, huge windows overlooking the city, a large easel was in the middle of the room on top of a drop cloth, a cart of paints and supplies nearby. I couldn't clearly see what he was painting, but it was an abstract that had sensual curves and dark blood red hues. Sexy and terrifying, just like him.

As I make my way back to the kitchen, I ponder what has made this man the way he is. What sort of past has molded him into this shape.

I spend the rest of my evening typing away on my laptop, planning for the holiday party. Creating a menu and corresponding grocery list, sending emails to those who haven't RSVPed yet.

While going over the guest list, I notice none of the names are Ren. And then I remember what Rose said- Kylo Ren isn't even his real name. I minimize the tab with the party spreadsheet and pull up the internet.

Wikipedia search: Kylo Ren.

Not a long article, but it's full of useful information. Born in 1983, he's almost a decade older than me. And his birth name is _Ben Solo_ , parents Han Solo and Leia Organa-Solo. His mother's name is hyperlinked so I click that too, and hop over to her own entry.

Whoa. A lawyer specializing in international law and human rights, she works in The Hague at the International Court of Justice, and has helped put war criminals in jail for life. There are links to so many different cases she's worked on, helping survivors of genocide and other atrocities. What a _fucking impressive_ woman.

Okay, back button, I want to know more about this Ben Solo.

Born and raised in New York, graduate of Hunter College and the National Academy School of Fine Arts. Adopted the pseudonym Kylo Ren after finishing art school. Notable apprenticeship with someone named Andy Snoke, and this small paragraph mentions he's a big deal in the art gallery world and gave Kylo his big break.

There's a list of some of his most celebrated shows, and he's shown his work all around the world. Even did a small stint as a professor at The Glasgow School of Art for two years.

The personal life section is quite short. He's been romantically linked to a few models, and I could not be _less_ shocked. But then there's one short sentence that gives me an emotion I can't quite name- "Estranged from parents since college."

No explanation given, and my google searches yield none either. I close the tabs and suddenly feel a wave of guilt roll over me. Trying to dig up dirt on Kylo made me feel uneasy, like I was poking around where I don't belong. But I can't help myself from wondering... what happened with his parents? Whatever it is, does it explain why he's so dark and volatile?

I'm lost in my thoughts when sudden sounds in the kitchen make me jump in my chair at the counter.

Kylo makes his way past me without looking my direction, straight towards the liquor cabinet. Annoyed that he's bypassed his meal, I roll my eyes with a small huff of breath.

He stops in his tracks.

"Something to say, mouse?" He asks while turning back towards me.

"You really should eat dinner. Whiskey _isn't_ dinner."

"I'm not a child that needs minded," he snaps.

"No, you're not. But surely you need fuel for your body, so you can give your best to whatever you're working on." The tone of my voice loses its bitterness and I genuinely mean what I'm saying.

The man needs to take better care of himself, especially if he's capable of such extraordinary things. Everything I've read says that he's a visionary, will be remembered as one of the greats. It does him no good to drown in liquor every night and lock himself away in his studios.

He stares back at me intensely, but the anger fades from his eyes. I can't figure out what he's thinking.

"I'm here to help. Just... let me help." What I really want to say is _Let me take care of you_ but that would be an insane thing to do. This is my boss. Nothing more.

Rising from my stool at the counter, I make my way around him and prepare his food. He doesn't say anything, just watches me work. I hand over his dinner and sit back down at my computer, expecting him to take the meal elsewhere.

Instead, he sits two stools down from me.

He eats in silence while I finish my emails to party guests and gallery owners. From my peripheral I watch him tear the bread and eat the curry with his hands. It's sensual to watch his fingers meet his lips over and over again, and I have to consciously remind myself not to turn and stare.

Eventually we make small talk, discussing his upcoming travel and planned exhibitions, everything is strictly professional. I dutifully take notes on my laptop, making sure to stay on top of his schedule and the tasks he's assigned me.

When he's finished, I start cleaning the kitchen. And he finally gets that whiskey he's been after. He emerges from the pantry with two glasses and sets one next to the sink for me.

A kind gesture? From Kylo Ren?

After the kitchen is cleared and we're both on our second glass of whiskey, I nod towards the terrace.

"I'm gonna smoke and then head to bed," I leave the invitation unspoken. Our last encounter on the balcony was an unforgettable one.

I grab my winter coat and head outside, small flurries are falling from the sky. With a cigarette between my lips, I start digging around my pockets for a lighter and come up empty handed.

And as if on cue, there he is.

We're both bundled in layers, and I was stiff from the cold, but now my blood seems to be pumping faster and warming my core. He walks over with his lighter in hand, stands deliciously close to me, and lights the end of my cigarette.

There's a shimmer of intimacy in that moment, a sexual tension as my lips fully close around the cigarette and drag in the smoke. He watches my mouth, studies my lips.

He doesn't move to light his own cigarette, so I extend mine to him and we pass it back and forth. I can't stop thinking of his mouth touching the same thing as my own. How we're just one degree of separation away from our lips touching.

He exhales the smoke, crushes the cigarette under his boot. And for a brief moment we just watch each other. The snow falls between us. Melts on our skin. I can't stop imagining how he tastes.

As if a mind reader, suddenly his mouth is on mine.

I get my answer immediately. He tastes of spices, whiskey, smoke, lust, aggression. His lips are soft, full, unforgiving. And I can't get enough.

My head tips back and I let out a small whimper as our mouths clash together. His tongue meets mine, swirling in the most tantalizing ways. One of his hands grabs my waist and yanks me until our bodies crash into each other; his other hand grabs my hair and tugs ferociously.

And just as fast as it started, it's over.

He releases my body, and I'm left gasping for air in the snow. I should be shivering cold, but now I'm shivering for completely different reasons. My body is on _fire._

He slowly wipes his bottom lip with his thumb, gives me one last smolder, and leaves.


	10. Chapter 10

  
The next morning, it’s as if nothing ever happened.

I prepare a breakfast of omelettes and tropical fruit salad, but never see Kylo emerge from his room or studios. After sending a text letting him know it’s on the counter if he’s interested, I notice that he leaves the message on “read” but doesn’t respond. 

He’s so fucking hot and cold.  _Scalding_ hot.  _Bitter_ cold. 

Instead of dwelling on the late night balcony rendezvous, I throw myself into work. 

Phasma has emailed to let me know that Kylo is showing artwork in San Francisco next week, and that she wants me to stop by her workspace to help prepare the pieces for travel. 

After a quick shower I dress myself in black skinny jeans, a Magical Mystery Tour shirt under a flannel, combat boots, and throw a velvet scrunchy in my hair. I’m sure Phasma will look like a model, as usual, but I like my style. 

Her studio is in Tribeca, so I shoot Vic a text asking for a ride downtown. As expected he’s quite prompt with the pickup, he says he was already out and about driving Kylo somewhere. We share some witty banter while discussing our favorite music, he invites me to see his band play sometime. 

“Do you want me to wait, miss? I don’t mind.” He almost seems hopeful, as he pulls up to Phasma’s. 

“No no, that’s okay V. I’m not sure how long this will all take, packing the art. Thank you though,” I find myself blushing again, even though surely the man is just doing his job. 

I make my way inside the office, and it’s gorgeous. Tall ceilings, large open floor plan, tables full of artwork, scattered boxes full of even more. 

“Good morning, thanks for coming in,” she says. Impeccably dressed in a black blazer and slacks, chrome jewelry, and signature red lipstick. 

“Of course. How can I help?”

“He’ll be setting up an exhibition in the Bay Area on Tuesday and we need to get everything prepared for shipment. I need you to catalog each piece, make sure they’re properly labeled and wrapped, and then pack them into boxes. Here’s the list of what’s being sold, you’ll need to work through the art on the tables to find what’s needed. Let me know if anything is missing. I’ll be at my desk if you have any questions.” 

Spread out on the massive tables are dozens of canvases. They’re all absolutely  _ haunting.  _

“What... what are they?” I’m fascinated with what’s laid out before me. 

From afar they seem like simple black and white shreds of paper on canvases. But as I look closer I see fragments of human bodies in the photographs. A woman’s bare leg. A collarbone. The curve of a waist. A wrist. A mouth. The female form has become distorted and mangled, yet somehow still beautiful. 

“It’s from his décollage phase.” She blandly looks up from her work, with an expression like I should know what she’s talking about. I don’t, of course. I went to cooking school, not art school. 

“Collages?” I ask. 

“No, the opposite,” she explains. “Instead of piecing together images to make something new, he tore the pictures apart. He calls this series  _Lovers_ _._ He took photographs, and then destroyed them. It’s a statement on how strangers become lovers who become strangers again. They’ll eat this up in California, it’ll sell quickly.”

I don’t know shit about art, but I’m blown away nonetheless. 

Each one is titled a different woman’s name, and their faces and random body parts have been ripped from the canvas. It should be grotesque, their damaged naked bodies, but instead it’s  ghostlike . As if they were once here and now suddenly they’re not. 

I carefully work my way alphabetically through the list, finding the necessary pieces that will be shipped. 

_Bonnie. Charlotte. Cosette. Elsie. Grace. Juliet. Lily. Natalie. Olivia_ _._ Each piece is completely different, each woman unique, shredded to pieces in varying peculiar ways. 

I make my way to the last name on the list, and sort through the artwork to find it. And when I finally do, it’s by far the most chilling. It’s so distorted that it’s hard to even tell there was once a woman’s photograph on this large canvas. 

_ Rey.  _

Whoever she once was, she must truly be a stranger to him now. The pain radiates off the artwork, I can tell how much emotion went into the piece as he ripped the memories away. 

I take care to gently wrap each large canvas, label them, and pack them into boxes for shipment. It takes all morning and most of the afternoon before I finish the task. 

“Fabulous, thank you so much. You’ve been a real help. I’ll get those flown out today, he should receive them tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow? Oh I hadn’t realized he was traveling so soon, his schedule says he doesn’t go until Monday.” 

Phasma doesn’t seem surprised that I’m not in the loop with his travel plans. “Ah, he didn’t tell you? He took the jet early this morning. He should return next weekend.”

Well that explains why I ate breakfast alone. He was already gone. 

“Hmm no, I wasn’t made aware. I’ll tell the pilots that his Monday flight I scheduled won’t be necessary. Let me know if I can be of any help this week, looks like my calendar is pretty clear now.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she says genuinely. “He’s a very private person, he comes and goes like the wind.”

“Yeah I’m starting to realize that.”

She has no idea how much so.

I leave Phasma to continue her work, and decide to catch a bus instead of bothering Vic to come downtown again. The ride is long, but I don’t mind it. I enjoy the feeling of being a real New Yorker, sitting amongst a cornucopia of people.

As the bus takes me uptown, I pull my journal from my backpack. Kylo’s artwork has had me reminiscing about former lovers all day. I’ll never be able to express myself the way he does on canvas, but I do enjoying putting pen to paper. I watch the snow fall outside the bus windows. I allow myself to draw on the emotions his art made me feel.

_in the absence of Persephone, the seasons change and the Earth grows cold. the flowers won’t bloom, summer’s over too soon. Demeter teaches us nothing is worse than a woman burned. she will retaliate, with ice, and it freezes to the core. in the absence of Persephone my skeletal design transforms into intricate ice sculptures that no touch can thaw. so i wait for springtime, and i wait for warmth. but i can’t shake this cold._

Soon enough, I’m back in my neighborhood and I pack up my belongings before hopping off the bus. I wander back to the apartment and greet Jimmy as he opens the door from the inside. 

“Hey yous! Any big Friday night plans?”

“First weekend in the city and I don’t work tomorrow, so yeah I think I just might go out later,” I say with a smile. It’s been a really intense few days, I deserve a little wild time. 

I head upstairs and grab some leftovers from the fridge before rummaging through my closet for a going out dress. Finally decide on a deep purple one that hugs my curves and rides up high on my thighs. I finish with black tights, thick black eyeliner, and then I throw the combat boots back on. Not bad, kid. 

I’m nervous to go out by myself, so I decide to do a small pre-game before hitting the clubs. I pack myself a bowl and head to the balcony to smoke in the evening air. 

The weed calms my nerves, and I start feeling good despite my brain overanalyzing the events that occurred in this exact spot 24 hours ago. 

Between hits I pull out my phone to message Rose, who has texted a bunch since the move. 

_ Hey babe, I miss you! The last few days have been super intense, so sorry for not getting back sooner.  _

_ That’s okay!!! How is it? How is he??? _

_ The place is gorgeous, you’re gonna shit yourself when you visit. And he’s.... a lot to handle. Haven’t made up my mind with him yet. But I think I’m killing the job so far! _

_ I’m so proud of you babe!! My parents are driving me crazyyyy already. Can’t fucking wait for New Year’s Eve with you! Can’t come soon enough! _

_ Agreed! I’m headed out to the bars tonight, wish me luck. Mama needs to get laid.  _

_ Do you ever need luck? You’ll be just fine ;) Be safe girl! Love you! _

_ Love you too Rosie. <3 _

She’s going to kill me for not immediately telling her about the kiss or the sexual tension, but I’m just not ready yet. Telling my best friend makes it  real . And right now I’m happy having a secret to keep. No one knows but me and him. It’s just ours. 

Even if it was just a one-off thing, which I’m sure it was. 

But he’s got me so wound up, and I need to release that energy. So I put my pipe away, grab my purse, and head downstairs into the night. 

Jimmy gives a low, playful whistle as I hail a cab, and I laugh him off. I slide inside and instruct the driver towards my favorite gay club.

After staring at women’s body parts all day, I’m having a  _very_ specific craving.


	11. Chapter 11

“I’ll take another Moscow mule, please,” I yell over the thumping bass to the bartender.

The tattooed woman behind the counter gives a friendly nod and starts mixing my fourth cocktail. I turn my attention back to the beautiful blonde at my side.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask, having to get right next to her ear so she can hear over the dance music.

“I think I’ve already had too many, but thank you, you’re sweet,” she replies with a smile. She has warm chocolate eyes and her hair is braided into a crown upon her head. She’s stunning. The hairdo gives her a regal look, which is accented by her gold dress.

The bartender hands me a copper mug, I pass her some cash to settle my tab and tip, and down the drink in two swigs. My hand finds its way to the blonde’s lower back, and I’m pleased to find it bare. Apparently the dress is backless, and the skin-on-skin sends electricity through my fingertips.

With the music too loud for conversation, she grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor. The lights are dim except for the strobe of rainbow colors which pulse with the beat of the song, the air is thick with sweat and lust.

Women of all types are moving to the music, sensually interlaced with one another. She’s in front of me, with her back pressed to my chest, as we grind to the rhythm. My hands find her waist and trail up and down her curves.

We work up a sweat, but neither of us care. Soon she turns around and we’re a mess of tangled limbs, moving as one entity instead of two.

She looks at me with hungry eyes, lids heavy with the weight of the alcohol and thick eyelashes. Her hands are on my body, exploring my own curves. Mine are on her bare back, she’s so fucking soft and smooth, and for a moment I forget we’re in the middle of a club.

Grabbing the back of her head, I pull her hair gently so her mouth is angled perfectly for mine. She grabs my face and then our mouths collide. Her tongue tastes of vodka and cranberries, and her perfume is floral and intoxicating.

We’re dancing and making out, both lost in the music and our buzzes. Eventually we pull ourselves apart and she says something to me but I can’t hear over the song.

“What?” I yell back.

“My place. It’s only a block away,” she says into my ear.

I nod, and she takes my hand again as we head toward the coat check. After grabbing our purses and bundling up, we adventure into the night, arm in arm. Huddled together for warmth, we drunkenly make our way to her apartment.

Giggling and tripping over ourselves, we find our way into the elevator, and can’t help but continue to sloppily make out on the way up. When the door opens on her floor she manages to find her keys and we start stripping as soon as we’re inside, mouths only parting when necessary.

We each tear off our clothes, and she leads me through her home. I don’t notice the details of her studio apartment, I only have tunnel vision for her bed. She’s gorgeous half naked, in nothing but her lace panties, and her lusty eyes tell me she’s pleased with my appearance as well.

I reach around my back to remove my bralette and then pull my underwear off so I’m fully bare. One small push and I shove her back onto the bed, and gently pull down the last remaining fabric covering her body. She moves to sit up and touch me, but I stop her.

“No, lay down. I need to taste you.”

She lets out a small whimper and nods her head in consent.

Crawling on top of her, my mouth finds her lips again. We kiss passionately, our curves melting together. She’s soft and warm and smooth and overwhelmingly feminine. I kiss her mouth, her chin, her neck, her collarbone.

My lips and tongue keep working their way lower, and they find one of her hardened nipples as my hand finds the other breast. Swirling it in gentle circles, nipping it lightly with my teeth, her back arches as she softly moans.

As I continue my way south, trailing kisses down her taught abdomen, my eyes look up to see her watching intensely. I shift my body and position myself between her legs, she lays back and rests her crowned head upon her pillow.

A few more kisses along her inner thighs, but her impatient hands find my head and tug gently on my hair. Her message is clear.

My mouth finds her cunt, and she’s dripping wet already.

My tongue slowly slides from her entrance up to their clit, and she tastes heavenly. Musky, sweet, salty, god I love the way women taste. Her hips slightly buck at the sensation, and her fingers work their way through my hair to keep it out of my way as I work.

I swirl slow circles, sloppier than usual thanks to the alcohol but she doesn’t seem to care. Her soft moans are music to my ears and let me know which motions she enjoys the most.

Up and down, pointed tongue, I begin to quicken the pace. Small sucks on her clit while my tongue continues its assault. Side to side, which catches her off guard and prompts an even louder moan. Faster and demanding, and then slow and light with a flat tongue, never letting her get used to one sensation for too long.

In time she’s outright screaming in pleasure. Hands gripping my hair tightly, subconsciously shoving me even closer. Her hips are squirming and she’s panting erratically, I can tell she’s close.

My hand leaves its resting place on her stomach and snakes its way under her leg and towards her opening. Two fingers easily glide inside as my mouth continues working on her clit.

One of her legs starts slightly spasming uncontrollably and she lets out a primal sound. My tongue quickens to an unrelenting pace as my fingers pump in and out while twitching and curving to reach different pleasure points.

It sends her over the edge and she screams as her thighs crash into the sides of my face. But I don’t stop, I make sure she rides the wave as long as possible until her shaking hands are shoving me away. Wiping my chin, I sit up and watch this gorgeous woman get lost in her orgasm, perfectly splayed out beneath me.

While she’s still sensitive, I crawl back on top and position myself so that our legs are tangled and I begin to grind my hips so that my clit brushes against hers.

“Oh god, it’s  _too_ good, I can’t,” she moans. But yet she grabs my hips and moves my body back and forth against hers. “Oh fuck, yes, okay yes. _Don’t_ stop.”

At first I roll my hips slowly, savoring the electricity exploding between my thighs. We’re both exceedingly wet and our sensitive areas deliciously rub against each other. And I can’t help when I start to move faster and press myself harder onto her, needing to get release.

She can sense what I crave and pulls us apart enough to get one of her hands on my cunt. She shoves two fingers inside while her thumb works my nub, and I move my body up and down frantically. I grind down onto her hand, and she works furiously to reciprocate the orgasm she just received.

Making a woman cum is one of my biggest turn ons, and honestly I was halfway to my peak just feeling her get off in my mouth. So it doesn’t take long before I’m shaking with my own pleasure, looking down to watch her beautiful concentrated face.

“Fuck. Yes.  _Fuck._ I’m so close,” I moan while tugging at my nipple with one hand and grabbing her hip with my other.

We’re a mess of limbs, moving erratically but also in sync with one another. With one last heavenly swirl of her thumb on my clit, I cum hard. I can feel myself clenching around her fingers as I fall over the edge of my orgasm, and I’m breathless as I let the sensations roll through my body. 

Collapsing on the bed next to her, my head is dizzy with alcohol and pleasure. We’re still entwined, and both slick with sweat. Our hands lazily roam over each other’s bodies, nerves still sensitive and tingling to even the slightest touch. 

We fall asleep naked in her bed, clothes strewn around the apartment randomly, sheets tussled and tangled. 

When I wake early Saturday morning, my head is thick and foggy, and it takes a moment to piece together where I am. I turn and see a mess of blonde hair on the pillow next to me and I remember the evening’s escapades with a smile. 

I slip out of the bed silently, tuck the blanket back over her naked body. It takes a while to find all of my pieces of clothing, thrown about the small studio in a drunken mess the night before. I find my undergarments near her bed, my tights on the couch, dress draped across a standing lamp near the kitchen, coat and purse in a pile by the front door. 

Dressing as quietly as possible, and fixing my makeup as best as I can in her bathroom mirror, I know I’m going to look like a real mess when I make my way home. 

“Good morning,” says a groggy voice from the bed. 

“Good morning, beautiful. Go back to sleep, it’s early,” I call back to her. I had no intention of being here when she woke up, and probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep here in the first place.

She doesn’t rise from the bed, but sleepily watches me try to make myself presentable.

“I’m Kaydel, by the way. I never got your name either,” she says with a laugh.

“Is it important?” I laugh back to her.

“No, I suppose it’s not. Thanks for last night.”

I finish brushing my fingers through my hair and pull it up into a bun, and make my way over to her bed for a few more soft kisses. She’s beautiful in the morning, and I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, but I’m not trying to form attachments right now. My mind can’t help but think of  _him,_ even in this sweet moment.

I kiss her goodbye, and she chuckles as I throw on my boots and begin my walk of shame home. 

Back to Kylo’s.


	12. Chapter 12

“Not a word, Jimmy,” I warn him playfully. 

I’m in last night’s club clothes, hair a mess, smudged makeup under dark sunglasses (that aren’t keeping the sun away from my eyes as much as I wish they would), with a to-go cup of coffee in my hand. 

“Ya look great, doll,” he heartily chuckles as he lets me in the building. 

After a long steamy shower and another cup of black coffee, I finally start to feel like a human again. The thought of food makes my stomach slightly turn, and I’m somewhat thankful that Kylo is out of town so I don’t have to do any cooking this morning. 

I wonder what he’s doing right now.

Having the weekend/week off sounds nice in theory, but I hate placidity. I’m the type of person that needs to keep moving moving moving, never letting my mind or body sit still for too long.

For a few hours I do some work on my computer while laying in the living room, thinking to myself that I’m probably the first to actually relax in this space. Kylo is either in his own bedroom or one of the studios at all times. Or you know, jetting off across the country without informing his assistant.

I find a remote and turn on the large TV over the fireplace, spend a few more hours binging Game of Thrones. When I’m bored with that too, I head to the library down the hall and write in my journal for a bit, then read a novel for a bit.

By the time early evening rolls around I’m bored out of my god damn mind.

I wander back to the kitchen and heat up some leftovers for dinner. As soon as the curry hits my lips I’m transported back to the snowy balcony. Remembering the lingering spice on his tongue.

Fuck.

Without thinking, my hand reaches for my phone and begins typing him a message.

_ I want you to kiss me like that all the time. _

Delete delete delete, DELETE. Have I lost my fucking mind?? I can’t send him that shit.

_ You confuse me, but I like it. _

Nope, nope, definitely not. Delete. The last thing I need is for him to know that his mind games are actually working.

So what  _ do _ I say? How do I convey that I want it to happen again, without seeming desperate or weak..? Finally I find the right words.

_Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Absolutely anything at all._

I pray that he can read the subliminal message in the text, and if he doesn’t then hopefully it seems like nothing more than a professional note sent from an employee who means well.

My thumb lingers over the send button, and then I muster enough bravery to slam it down. Sent.

I’m finally over my small hangover, but decide I need a glass of wine for courage. I sip it outside on the chilly balcony while smoking a post-dinner cigarette, and soon enough twenty minutes go by without a response. I resign myself, thinking he’ll leave me on “read” once again.

But then my phone dings.

_ There are quite a few things I need from you. _

My heart stops. I chain smoke my current cigarette trying to understand his meaning, trying to figure out how in the  _ hell _ I respond to that. But thankfully he sends a second text in quick succession.

_ You need to wear something nicer than a band tee_ _to the holiday party. Important people will be there, buy something suitable. Use the credit card. No grungy punk shit. _

_ Okay, I can do that. _

Before I stop myself, I send a follow up.

_ Any preferences? _

_ Red. _

_ How else can I be of service? _

_ Stop flirting with my fucking driver. _

I can’t help but smirk like an idiot while staring at my phone. Is he... jealous? Or just possessive? Either way, the thoughts send a shockwave through my core. My brain works to come up with the perfect response, something that will please him. Ah, I know what he wants to hear.

_ Yes, Sir. _

He doesn’t bother to reply, but in my mind I take that as a good sign. I’m starting to understand the way he works, well okay, not really. But I’m at least starting to understand the game.

As I make my way back to my room, I find myself walking the long way around the penthouse. Curiosity is overtaking me, and I soon find myself exploring.

I turn into the eastern hallway and skip past his bedroom, too scared to venture inside or even crack the door. But I  _ am _ drawn towards the closed doors of the studios.

He calls me a mouse, huh? Well when the cat’s away...

With a small creak, the door to the first workspace opens and I find myself inside a photography studio. Various pieces of camera equipment, lights, tripods, backdrops. The large windows are blacked out with thick curtains. I notice a velvet couch to one side, a desk with a computer to the other.

I wander deeper into the room and find a second door, and upon inspection I see that it leads to a darkroom. Chemicals line the shelves, rolls of negatives litter the tables. I had a feeling he would develop his photos the old fashioned way, he’s too much of a control freak not to. Before I get the urge to explore his photographs and truly be a snoop, I leave the space.

Back in the hall, I try the knob of the second mystery door. It doesn’t budge. I wonder to myself if one of the keys I was given will fit inside the lock, and remind myself to try another time.

Finally I make my way to what I now know to be his painting studio. I open the door that was once slammed in my face, and begin to explore the space I glimpsed the other night.

So many canvases in the large room, some finished and others half realized. I can tell he’s gone through different phases and styles, different moods and colors, but everything has his unique touch. They’re all undeniably his.

Most pieces are abstract, some are borderline surrealist, none are absolute realism. His works are often scary or sensual, sometimes both. They evoke deep seated emotions, troubling thoughts, illicit sexual feelings.

I completely understand why he’s lauded by the critics. I’ve never seen work like this before. He’s radical with his paintbrush, unrelenting with his vision. He really goes to deep and dark places in his psyche to create these wonders, and I now grasp why he hates being interrupted. It must be so difficult to be in  _ this _ creative headspace.

Just like I did when I was googling information about his life, I suddenly feel terrible for peeping into his private spaces. I just so  _ desperately _ want to understand this man, but decide in this moment that I’ll let him show me these sides of himself if he so chooses. No more prying.

I pull myself away from his workspace, mind still imagining his large hands gracefully and aggressively working the paintbrushes across the canvases.

Making my way back to my room, I shut my door and push my back against it. My hand frantically works its way into my pants, finding my panties drenched.

As I stand leaning on the closed door, I rub my bundled nerves feverishly as different thoughts flash through my mind.

The kiss on the balcony. The shredded images of his former lovers. His color flecked hands exploring my naked body. The haunting images he paints. The way he’d feel inside of me, using my body.

I let the thoughts consume me, and cum twice before I can finally get him off my mind.


	13. Chapter 13

  
Sunday goes by in a boring blur. 

I spend the day walking the neighborhood, exploring the stores nearby, and doing some Christmas shopping.

The next morning I wake to the empty penthouse yet again. It’s eerily quiet, and I still don’t quite feel like I belong here. With or without Kylo. I wonder to myself if this place will ever feel like home. 

After a quick breakfast and shower, I dress in black leggings and a vintage Led Zeppelin shirt, throw a black sweater on top. 

It’s Monday, which means I need to stop by various art and camera supply stores to pick up the different orders Kylo has made throughout the week. And I also know that means I need to text Vic for a ride around town. 

I think back to the text conversation from a few nights ago. 

_ Stop flirting with my fucking driver.  _

_ Yes, Sir. _

I blush to myself, remembering how his possessive words made me feel. Then blush a little harder thinking of Vic’s mischievous green eyes sparkling from the rearview mirror.

Telling myself that we’re nothing more than friendly coworkers, I send him a message letting him know I’m ready for Monday errands. Grabbing my boots, coat, and backpack, I make my way downstairs for a quick smoke and chat with Jimmy. 

Soon enough, Vic arrives. Looking as dashing as ever. 

He’s used to the Monday routine, and begins driving us to the different shops without instruction. He notices my shirt and we discuss music, his band, their upcoming show. It’s nothing more than friendly banter. 

First we head to the camera store for developing chemicals and photo paper of all sizes. An art supply shop for dry pigment powder, it seems he mixes and creates his own paint colors. _Control freak._ And finally a similar store for specific paintbrushes, China bristle, that come in an expensive looking box. Only the finest for Mr. Ren, apparently. 

Each shop is a small mom and pop store, businesses that have been family owned for decades. And each clerk seems very excited to be fulfilling orders for Kylo; they take pride in the fact that he’s a loyal customer.

After getting all of the necessary orders, I have Vic stop by the grocery store so I can pick up a few random items, and then we start making our way back to the apartment.

“Want help bringing this all upstairs, miss?”

He’s just doing his job. _He’s just doing his job._

He’s just doing his job, right?

“Sure, that would be helpful, actually.”

Jimmy gives us both a nod as he lets us in from the cold, and we make our way to the elevator. I’m very aware of how close we’re standing in the small space. How tall and broad he is. How fucking good his cologne smells. 

Finally we reach the forty sixth floor and I practically run out of the elevator to the penthouse door. 

I store all of the supplies in the front office, seeing as the studios are technically off limits and I don’t want  _ him _ to know I’ve been sneaking about where I don’t belong. Vic helps unpack everything from their respective bags, and then we make our way to the kitchen to store the groceries. 

The atmosphere is light and fun, and I soon forget about my internal panic from the elevator. Knowing that Kylo is out of town and that we won’t be interrupted like last time, we enjoy each other’s company, laughing and discussing mutual interests. 

“Can I make you lunch? I appreciate all of your help today,” I ask him. 

His face lights up, pleased that I’m not done spending time with him just yet. 

“I’d love that. But nothing fancy, I’m a south side Chicago guy, so don’t go too crazy,” he says with a perfect smile. 

He sits at the counter and watches while I cook, I turn on some jazz for background noise. It’s _nice_ to be around someone who is always smiling, always kind. It’s such a stark contrast to the usual vibe in this kitchen. 

Soon I’m throwing chicken thighs and wings into a bowl of buttermilk and hot sauce, while pouring oil in a pot. The chicken needs to rest so we head to the balcony to smoke, well I smoke at least. Vic says he’s never been out on the terrace before, and we spend some time enjoying the view together. 

He stands very close to me while we lean against the railing and gaze down upon Central Park. His shoulder rests against mine, and it sends a wave of warmth through my body despite the winter air. Kylo’s words keep ringing in my mind, but I also can’t stop myself from enjoying this man’s presence. 

After a while, I finally pull myself away and get back to the task at hand. After washing up, I mix flour with cornstarch, onion and garlic powders, cayenne and paprika. I heat up the oil, watching the thermometer rise to the perfect degree. Removing the chicken from its marinade, I dredge the pieces through the seasoned flour and drop them one at a time into the frying liquid.

Soon, mouthwatering smells are wafting through the kitchen. As the chicken fries, I make a simple salad and then mix an oil and vinegar dressing. I’m in the zone while cooking, and when I finally look up from the prepared meal, Vic is smiling ear to ear.

“Well damn, little lady. This looks amazing.”

“It’s just some fried chicken, V. Nothing fancy, like you said.”

“You know the way to my heart,” he says with that mischievous look as he makes himself a plate.

We eat at the counter together, he sits in the stool next to mine, and I can’t help but notice each time he sucks a finger or licks his lips. He’s so fucking handsome, and it’s just so  _ nice _ to have someone appreciate the work I put into a meal.

As I’m doing the dishes, we continue conversing about anything and everything but Kylo. I’m not sure if we’re both doing it consciously or not, but it’s almost as if we’re pretending to live in a world that doesn’t involve our boss. No need to spoil the mood.

“Do you have plans Thursday night?” he asks.

“No plans at all Thursday,” I reply. I don’t mention that my day is completely free since Kylo’s out of town and there’s no dry cleaning to pick up this week. “Why, what’s up?”

“Phasma’s wife owns a performance space, it’s also sort of a bar, and they have an open mic situation that night.”

“I just  _ knew _ she had a social life outside of work! She’s always so polished and professional, I’ve been dying to see what she’s like beyond of all of that.”

“Yeah she’s actually a lot of fun when you get to know her. Her wife is way chill, they balance each other out nicely I think. So you’ll come?”

I pause for a moment, thinking how this little lunch date was probably already going against Kylo’s request and now I’m  _definitely_ playing with fire. But I can’t stop myself from enjoying how refreshing it feels to be in his company. Spending time with someone  _nice_.

“Okay, I’m in,” I reply with a smile.

Vic leaves soon after, and I’m left alone again in the massive apartment. His heavenly cologne lingers in the air, and I thank the stars that Kylo won’t be home until the weekend.

I feel an overwhelming sensation of loneliness in this giant empty space, and miss my friends back home tremendously. I pull out my phone to text Rose.

_Do you have any free time this week to come to the city? Need to buy a dress for a work party, on the boss’s card. You’re better at these things than me!_

_Oh my GOD, YES. Thursday or Saturday work for me! I can borrow mom’s car._

_Thursday! There’s also an open mic thing that night too if you’re interested?_

_Say no more, I’m there. I’ll drive in Thursday morn!_

_See you then, babe <3_

Thank god, best friend time. I’ve been absolutely lacking friendship this past week in the city, other than Vic, and I’m not exactly sure what his intentions are anyway. Also I’m great at picking out vintage or thrift clothes, but terrible when it comes to fancy shit. Rose has the eye for these things, so that’s a relief.

The next few days drag on. I test some recipes for the holiday party, smoke too many cigarettes on the terrace, resist the urge to snoop through the apartment again, send emails for Kylo to various gallery owners, try my best to keep busy.

Finally, Thursday morning arrives and I jump out of bed with vigor. I know that we’ll be going to high-end stores, so I do my best to pull together an outfit that’s fitting. Black slacks, plum wool sweater, and a pair of nice earrings.

As I’m brushing my hair, my phone buzzes.

_Bitch, get down here and tell this old man you know me! He won’t let me in!_

I chuckle, and love the idea of feisty Rose going up against steadfast Jimmy. Grabbing my coat and purse, I head toward the elevator, ready for the day’s adventure.


	14. Chapter 14

“It’s absolutely perfect!” Rose squeals.

She’s standing behind me in the mirror, and we’re both gazing at my reflection in wonder. I can’t even recognize myself in this dress.

“Are you sure you want it in red? Black is your signature color...” she ponders.

“Yes.  _Has_ to be red. It’s, uh, you know, a holiday party?” I try my best to cover for how quickly I answer her question.

“God, I need a rich boss. Or a sugar daddy. How does one get a sugar daddy?! There  must be plenty of bored rich dudes in New Jersey, fuck.”

We laugh as I change out of the red gown, and back into my drastically less expensive street wear.

I’m nervous about the price tags on the dress and heels, but he did say to look nice  _and_ to use his card. We make our way to the counter and the snooty women give us both judgmental looks, as if they know we’re out of place.

That is, until I hand over the heavy black credit card with Kylo Ren’s name on it. Their demeanor changes immediately, they know exactly who he is.

One of them carefully zips the gown into a garment bag while the other gently places the shoe box in a white bag with PRADA written on the side.

They both wish us a  _very_ happy holiday season and if there’s  _anything_ we need at all,  _please_ don’t hesitate to let them know, yadda yadda yadda. It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes at them, I feel like I’m in the middle of a “Pretty Woman” scene.

Along with Kylo’s money, the day is spent. We wandered through different stores for hours until I found the exact perfect outfit. We chatted about Kylo, and Rose let out a small scream in the middle of Gucci when I told her about the balcony kiss. We contemplated the Vic situation while browsing Saks Fifth Avenue.

We decide that V’s motives are still unclear and I’m not even entirely sure if I’m actually into him or not, so it’s good that Rose is going to the venue tonight so she can get a firsthand look at the situation.

“Are you going to read any of your poetry?” she asks.

“What?? No way! You know crowds terrify me, and I only let you hear my stuff because it’s you.”

“Oh come on! How about we make a deal?” I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she plots. “I just so happen to have my ukulele in the car, and if I play a song then you have to do a small reading. Pretty please?”

She bats her eyelashes at me, and knows how much I love to hear her sing, so I give in. 

“Okay fine. But emphasis on SMALL reading, Rose,” I acquiesce. “Not trying to make a fool out of myself.”

“Oh babe you won’t! Tonight is going to be so much fun. Let’s get these treasures back to your place, pregame a little, and change for the party!”

I give her a brief tour of the penthouse, and her jaw is practically on the floor at every turn. It feels wrong to let her peak into his studios, so we skip those and focus on the common areas and my room.

“Well _fuck me_ ,” she says. “I cannot believe you live here!”

We smoke a joint on the balcony before returning indoors to warm up and change for the evening. She’s as cute as ever in a floral dress, pink cardigan, and Mary Janes on her feet. I go with black leather pants and a silver tank top, heavy black makeup and a pair of silver heels. We couldn’t look more different, but hey, that’s us.

Vic says he’ll drive tonight, and in his own car this time. After sundown he sends a text letting me know he’s here and ready whenever we are.

Rose and I bundle up and then make our way down to street level. Jimmy’s off work by this hour, and the friendly night doorman nods as we make our way outside. My breath catches when I see Vic leaning against his car.

“Wow,” he says when he sees me. He clears his throat and then turns to Rose. “Hey, I’m Vic. It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard many good things,” he says while offering a handshake.

“Wow to you too,” I laugh. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of a suit, and he looks sexy in dark jeans and an emerald green button-up that really makes his eyes pop. 

He opens the doors of his Audi for us, with a chuckle. “Sorry, habit,” he says.

I slide in the front and Rose settles into the back, and then we’re off. We drive over the bridge into Brooklyn and engage in friendly small talk along the way. Rose sends me a text from the backseat.

_Oh I’ve seen enough, he’s into you FOR SURE_. 

She then sends a follow up, but it’s just a bunch of sweaty emojis and an eggplant. Typical.

Finally we pull up to what appears to be a warehouse, except there are a few people outside smoking and a valet that parks Vic’s car. We head inside and he wanders off to the bar to grab drinks while we find a table. We settle into one near the front of the stage area.

The space is large and open, and it’s been styled in a very hip and modern way. Soon enough I spot Phasma, and she and a beautiful redhead make their way over to where we’re sitting.

“Fabulous! Vicrul said you’d be coming along tonight, how charming. I’d like you to meet my wife, Amy.”

“Pleasure,” I say as I offer a handshake but she gives me a hug instead. I introduce Rose as Vic returns with three glasses of wine balanced in his hands.

“You’re a brave girl,” Amy laughs. I notice she also has a British accent. “Ren is something else.”

We drink together while discussing the other artists in attendance, Rose makes a point of letting them know  she’ll be playing a song and I’ll be doing a short poetry reading. Amy puts me at ease, she’s so laid back and down to earth. Vic is right, she truly completes the prim and proper Phasma.

I ask how they met, she explains it was when Gwendoline first started working with Kylo in the UK. Amy’s younger brother is also a painter, and introduced the two. Phasma adoringly watches her wife explain how they bonded over the arts and swiftly fell in love. We chat about Amy’s own successes with sculpture, but soon they have to leave to continue their hosting duties.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Phasma,” I joke before they go.

“Oh there’s only one Phasma,” she chuckles. “I ended up keeping my maiden name, Hux.”

They head off to get the performances started, and the three of us sit and drink red wine while we listen to slam poets, small musical ensembles, and singers. We watch intriguing performance art pieces and even a mime. It’s lovely to be surrounded by so many creative minds.

As the night goes on, Vic inches closer and closer to me, and at one point even drapes his arm across the back of my chair. We joke, we laugh, I playfully touch his strong arm every once in a while. He’s so _sweet_ and attentive.

Eventually Rose makes her way to the stage and performs a beautiful version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on her ukulele, in the style of Iz. She sings it right to me, and knows it’s one of my all time favorites. The crowd cheers for an encore when she’s finished, but she seals my fate when she lets them know I’ll be up next.

Vic gives my hand a squeeze and I swig the last of my wine, then grab my journal and slowly make my way to the stage. The piece I wrote came about after the infamous balcony kiss, and Kylo is swimming in my mind despite the lovely evening with Vic.

As I step to the mic, I see Rose beaming up at me from the front row. I turn to the page with my latest piece, but then someone in the very back of the crowd catches my eye.

He’s standing there, brooding in all black, glass of whiskey in his hand, leaning against the bar. Eyes laser focused on me, and I can tell from his glare that he’s seen everything. All of the flirtation. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times over.

My tongue turns to sandpaper and time seems to be standing still. Holy fucking shit, what is _Kylo_ doing home from California already? And how can I read this piece about him, in front of him?

Rose clears her throat and it snaps me back to reality. I find myself growing courage as the wine courses through my veins. Suddenly the journal is useless, I know these words from memory. So I begin reading. Never breaking eye contact with Kylo.

_i need to feel your steady heartbeat._

_first, i will find it in your strong wrists._

_i will lace my fingers with yours as i trace my lips across the space below your palms._

_i will hold you just as tightly as your veins hold your steady flow of being._

_i will taste how much you are alive._

_next, i will find it in the crook of your neck._

_just above your collarbone, that perfect dip of milky skin._

_it cries out for attention with every thud of your heart._

_i can be that attention._

_i crave your steady moans that build to indescribable ecstasy._

_let me kiss you again and again and again,_

_until i feel your wave crash down and can taste that steady pulse._

His stare is so intense, and I  _know_ he knows this is about him. He doesn’t move the entire time I read, doesn’t fucking  _blink_ _,_ and only when I’m done does he sip his liquor. And then he turns and fades into the crowd, and I can no longer find him as the other artists politely applaud.

I make my way back to the table and Rose tells me how proud she is, and Vic has a look on his face that I have absolutely no time to translate right now. I have a feeling it’s lust, but suddenly seeing Kylo has squashed the flirtation I felt earlier this evening.

“I’m going to go smoke,” I say abruptly.

“We can join, just let me grab my-“ Rose starts.

“No no, it’s okay. Just need a second to clear my head, you know how these things frazzle me.” I throw on my coat, grab a cigarette, and bolt out the door before either of them can stop me.

The winter air hits my skin and I take a huge gulp of air. I only have a second of solitude before he appears like a shadow, and aggressively pushes me up against the side of the warehouse.

“Kylo, I-“

_“ Shut up._ So this is what happens when I leave town for a few days? I should have known.” He’s furious. But he’s deliciously close and pressing his hard body against mine.

“I didn’t, we didn’t-“ I sputter.

“Do you want him?” His gaze is demanding.

“No.” I answer definitively, and in this moment I have pure clarity. I don’t  _actually_ want the nice guy. I crave the evil man currently pinning me against some dirty warehouse in Bushwick.   


”Tell me what you want. Now.”

No hesitation: “You.”

He licks his lips, but they never meet mine. Instead he leans down and puts his mouth directly next to my ear before whispering words that make my knees weak.

“I want you to know that the first time I fuck you, I might scare you. Because I'm a man, and I know how to do things.”

He grabs my hips and then trails up my curves, which sends pure electricity crackling through my core. I’m clay in his large hands.

And then he turns and leaves as my body screams for more.

Like always. 


	15. Chapter 15

Ripping off my coat, I let the winter wind billow across my frame. 

The tank top does little to protect me from the elements and for that I’m so fucking glad. I can feel that I’m flushed, and know that my face is bright red. His hands were on my body for no more than five seconds and I’ve completely come undone. 

Trying my best to regain my composure, I light my cigarette and take a few drags. Soon I hear Rose calling my name.

“There you are! Can I borrow your lighter, I-“ she stops after seeing the look on my face.

“Oh my god, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And put your coat on!”

I mindlessly do as she says and hand her the flame she desires. I’m still staring off into space as she starts talking about something but I’m not listening to a word she’s uttering.

“Kylo’s here,” I whisper, interrupting whatever she had been saying about the last musician on stage.

“What?”

“Kylo. He’s  _here_ _._ Right now. Inside.”

“Oh fuck. What are you going to do about Vic?” She studies my face as I mull over her question. But being the true friend she is, she doesn’t need me to speak the words written all over my face.

“Okay, okay, I get it. He’s a nice guy but damn, Kylo’s really doing a number on you, huh? I’ve seen his picture, I get it girl.” She chuckles as I try to steady my breathing and laugh off the nervous energy. She continues. “Alright I have a plan, and you owe me one for this. Let’s go inside.”

She leads me back into the warehouse and when we both spot Kylo she squeezes my hand and whispers “Oh  _fuck_ _,_ okay yeah this is  _ happening.” _

Vic is chatting with Amy nearby, and Rose saunters up to politely interrupt their conversation.

“So sorry to bother you, but do you think I could get a ride back to my car? It’s getting pretty late and I still have to drive back to Cherry Hill tonight. I don’t want to cut your evening short but it would  _really_ mean a lot to me.”

I watch as Rose turns on the charm, flashing her doe eyes and bright smile for Vic. I also watch as his own eyes dart to me, wondering if I’ll be joining them.

“I’m okay, I’d like to stay a bit longer. I’ll be fine, you two get home safe.” I hope I’m coming across as polite and not dismissive.

“You’re not going to Uber are you? Those guys sketch me out at this hour,” Vic says. And then I watch his demeanor abruptly change from sweet to stiff.

“I’ll drive her home. We live together, after all,” says a baritone voice behind me.

I don’t need to turn, I know Kylo is standing just behind me. But I  _do_ wonder what look is upon his face, because I see a sudden realization wash over Vic. His eyes move back and forth between my face and Kylo’s, and he doesn’t hide the disappointment as quickly as I’m sure he’d like to.

“Of course, sir.” He clears his throat and throws on a halfway convincing smile. “I’m ready whenever you are, Rose.”

The two of them start towards the valet while Amy excuses herself to find her wife. The tension in the air is palpable.

I spend the next hour sitting alone at the table, drinking wine, somewhat watching the performances. But my attention is always on Kylo. He’s making the rounds and chatting with other artists, answering their questions about his latest show in San Francisco. Phasma seems quite pleased with how the sales went. They all suck up to Kylo, but I can tell he finds everyone here beneath him.

Eventually I wander outside for a cigarette, the wine buzz is thick in my head. As I’m finishing, I feel his presence before I hear or see him.

“Fuck, stop sneaking up on me like that,” I snap.

“You’re one to talk about  _sneaking_ _,”_ he snarls back. “We’re leaving.”

He grabs my arm, and guides me toward a black two-door Porsche that the valet is carefully driving up to the entrance. Walking around to the driver’s side, he doesn’t bother to open my door, and I take these moments to grab a few last breaths of winter air before getting in.

Kylo doesn’t wait for my seatbelt to click into place before he peels out of the parking lot. My head snaps back onto the seat and I can feel the power of the engine growling as he shifts seamlessly.

He doesn’t turn on any music, doesn’t make small talk. His left hand controls the steering wheel while his right maneuvers the gearshift. I find myself staring at these hands, admiring their size and strength. I’ve never cared about cars before, but watching him drive this way is sending pools of warmth between my thighs. He’s in _absolute_ _control_ of the machine.

We make our way through Brooklyn, and I realize he isn’t taking the quickest route to Manhattan. He speeds us through the borough, winding his way toward the bridge.

His eyes never leave the road, as if he’s purposefully not looking my direction. It drives me absolutely wild. I dutifully sit, letting my eyes wander his face and frame. I know he senses my lust, my need for his attention.

After minutes and minutes of tense silence, he finally speaks.

“Prove it,” he demands while aggressively shifting gears, never glancing toward me. 

“Prove what?” I ask, my voice smaller than I hoped it would come out.

He swiftly turns down another street, passing cars left and right.

“Prove that you want  _me._ Show me what’s mine.”

“N-now?” I stutter.

“Learn to follow directions without question, little mouse. Or you  will be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer. And I suddenly know exactly what he wants from me in this moment.

My shaky hand clicks the seatbelt and I pull it out of my way. I do my best to steady my nerves as I remove my coat and then tilt my seat back. By the time I’m lowering my zipper, my inhibitions are dwindling.

As my fingers slip into my pants and between my folds, I already know what’s waiting for me. I can feel my pulse beating wildly between my thighs, I know I’m drenched. He’s barely touched or  looked at me all evening, but my body has responded wildly.

I find the slick wetness, and begin rubbing small circles on my clit. He doesn’t turn to watch. He continues driving. The car vibrates deliciously beneath me. My left hand reaches up underneath my tank, finds my bare breasts.

At first I’m quiet, hoping he’ll see the motions out of his peripheral and want to make eye contact with me. But instead of feeling spurned by how he ignores my actions, it fuels my desire. My body aches for his attention.

My pace accelerates and my breaths quicken. I can hear small whimpers escaping my mouth as I fuck myself while imagining him deep inside me. He still doesn’t look over, but I watch as his grip tightens on the gearshift. I notice how his own breaths become more shallow.

Faster and faster, I feel myself getting closer to orgasm as I remember being pinned against the warehouse. Pinned against the railing of the terrace. I imagine how incredible it would feel if he restrained me in bed. My mind is consumed with giving him all control when-

“Stop,” he demands in a level tone.

I do as he says, but can’t help when I let out a tiny groan. Merely seconds ago I was daydreaming of letting him have complete power over me, but I never thought it would happen like this.

Removing my hands from their tasks, I lay still in the passenger seat and clasp them tightly together in my lap so that they do not stray. I was teetering on the edge of a cliff and then he  _yanked_ me backwards. But instead of feeling annoyed, I concentrate on pleasing him. I relinquish all control.

“Take off your shirt.”

Without question this time, I quickly sit up and pull the tank over my head. My arms cover my breasts until I lay back down and then I expose myself fully, hoping he’ll look. He doesn’t.

“Continue.”

As he’s driving us through the city, I watch his hands grip the car even tighter, I feel his speed accelerate and his turns become more erratic. It’s slightly terrifying, but it adds another layer of danger, makes my heart beat even faster. I can’t see out of the windows from where I’m laying, but it doesn’t matter. He could be taking me anywhere in the world right now and I’d thank him for the ride.

My hands begin to roam again, finding my exposed nipples rock hard and ultra sensitive. I pinch one between two fingers as I flick my clit over and over again. I’m becoming more bold as more time goes on, and my whimpers turn into outright moans.

And yet he still won’t look at me, half naked in his front seat, touching myself at his command.

But I have a feeling that I’ll be rewarded with his full attention when I cum. So I dip two fingers inside my slick entrance for a while, roughly fucking myself, before returning to my nub and furiously swirling circles over and over again.

I’m so god damn close, panting and arching my back when-

“Stop,” he says simply. He’s still in complete control, still not glancing to his right, but I can feel his composure slipping as he utters that one word.

This time I leave my hands exactly where they are; one on my breast and one between my folds. I don’t groan, I make no indication that I’m not enjoying the game. Because I’ll do  _anything_ he asks of me. If this is a test, I will not fail.

I watch his face, making sure I don’t miss any eye movements my direction. I wait patiently.

I feel the car come to an abrupt stop as he parks god knows where, and then suddenly his predatory eyes are on me.  _All over me._ He takes in the scene- I’m half naked, panting, exposed, on the peak of orgasm, laying back on his leather seat. His large hands stay glued to the steering wheel and gearshift, but his eyes give me their full and undivided attention.

Seeing the hungry look on his face is almost enough to send me straight over the edge. My body clenches and I whimper when his unyielding eyes meet mine. I say nothing, I wait. I want to please him more than anything, more than I want to please myself.

His voice drops even lower than usual, he’s husky and short of breath when he commands-

“Cum for me. Now.”

In no time at all, I’m rushing back to my peak and it’s more intense than any other time I’ve touched myself. His eyes roam up and down my body, examine every muscle twitch and spasm. He doesn’t miss a single breath, a single moan.

All of the wishes I made minutes ago have been granted - it’s as if I’m the only thing in the world he wants to see.

He knows  _exactly_ how close I am. And just before I cum for him, his eyes snap up to mine. He stares straight into my soul as the wave crashes down upon me and drowns me in pleasure.

I try my hardest to keep my eyes open, I don’t ever want to forget the look on his face in this moment. But ecstasy overtakes me, and my head tips back as my back arches off the seat.

As I’m coming back down to reality, I look over to Kylo, whose attention has finally turned back to the road. He starts driving again and for a brief moment I’m overwhelmed with sadness now that he’s no longer gazing down upon me.

But that feeling is quickly erased as I see a smug smile spread across his devilish mouth and he says the sweetest words I’ve  _ever_ heard.

“Good girl.”


	16. Chapter 16

When we return to our building and park in the underground garage, we don’t speak.

I’ve redressed myself but I’m sure my hair is sloppy and my skin is flushed. Kylo’s self-contained composure is back, he’s as placid as ever. He exits his car and doesn’t wait for me to get out as he walks to the elevator.

As he steps inside, I scramble to keep up and join him. We’re trapped together in the confined space and I’m aware of the vague smell of my sex in the air. He hasn’t spoken since his words of praise, but the silence no longer makes me feel uneasy. Now that I’m somewhat aware of what’s going on inside his mind, my troubled thoughts have disappeared. 

I’m standing at his side and we’re both facing forward. The numbers on the panel climb as we make our way to the penthouse.

And then I feel his hand on my back. Thick strong fingers are tracing up and down my spine, sending breathtaking sensations throughout my being. It’s the first gentle touch he’s gifted my body.

The doors open on the forty sixth floor and his tantalizing hand motions stop, he walks ahead of me to unlock our door.

I’m not sure what comes next. Will he try to bed me now? No, don’t be silly. He’s hot and cold, that’s his game. And  _ fuck _ was that car ride hot, so I know to expect blistering cold.

And without fail, he drops his keys on the front table and then disappears down the eastern hallway. I hear the door to one of his studios open and close, and then he’s gone.

But this time, my heart doesn’t sink. 

This time I know what the flip side of the coin feels like. I can handle the cold now that I’ve had a taste of the hot. I’ll endure whatever he throws my way, just for the  possibility of more praise. More passion. More Kylo.

The next few days pass without incident.

I cook our meals, he eats about half of them, and some of those we share at the kitchen table. He works obsessively on his art, disappearing for hours at a time in his studios. I run his errands, work on emails and spreadsheets, connect with Phasma about upcoming art shows. He doesn’t touch me, our bodies never connect, but I know that if I’m patient I’ll be rewarded. So I throw myself into work.

Finally, the holiday party is a day away.

I spend the morning decorating the penthouse. I’ve ordered multiple Christmas trees, and polite delivery men help bring them upstairs and set them up for me to decorate. There’s a festive pine smell, and for a moment it brings back childhood memories that I push down.

I’ve decided on a silver and white color scheme for the party, knowing it will go well with all of the black furniture and Kylo’s aesthetic. The trees are strung with white lights, silver and white baubles, tiny hints of silver tinsel. They’re magical, and give a classic and snowy feel.

It’s also the fifth day of Hanukkah, so I make sure to have a menorah and candles in the window for those that celebrate.

I place dozens and dozens of white candles on every surface, ready to be lit and add to the ambience. White poinsettias are sporadically placed around the apartment. Delicate paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling.

When I’m done, I’m beyond pleased with how it has all turned out. It’s a winter wonderland.

The last half of the day is spent readying some of tomorrow’s feast. I do as much prep work as possible to lighten tomorrow’s load. By the time darkness falls over the city, I realize I’ve been working nonstop since sunrise.

After cleaning the kitchen and making one last sweep of the apartment, I grab a joint and coat from my room and wander out to the terrace.

Kylo has been absent all day, working away in his photography studio. He popped out once at lunch, but took his meal in solitude. I saw his eyes roam around the apartment but he didn’t give any hints to whether he was pleased with what I had done. 

As I smoke in the brisk evening air, I wonder if he has a hard time at the holidays like I do. I’ve been orphaned since my teen years, and he’s been estranged from his parents since college. We both understand the heavy weight of waking up alone on Christmas.

I exhale the thick weed smoke, I also do my best to exhale the lingering sadness in my chest.

I’m halfway through the joint when I hear the terrace doors open.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this okay?” I gesture to the spliff between my fingers.

“I don’t give a shit,” he says nonchalantly. He sits in the chair across from mine and then gestures towards his lap, arms stretched out beckoning me to come sit.

Slowly I rise from my chair, and then straddle his lap, looking toward his perfect face. He removes the joint from my hand, takes a long drag, and then closes the space between our bodies.

His lips just barely meet mine, and part enough for him to blow the smoke back into my mouth. It’s heavenly. If I was high before, I’m on cloud nine now.

I’m relishing the feeling of his hard legs beneath me. The way one of his arms is curled around my waist. The sensation of a slight erection pressing into my thigh. The taste of his mouth mixed with the smoke of Northern Lights. It’s all too much.

I can’t help when my body presses down upon him, needing to feel his manhood. We pass the joint back and forth a few times as I lazily grind on his lap. The eye contact is intense, both of us reading each other’s face.

Reaching over to put the joint in the ashtray on the table, I have to shift my body off of him slightly. He puts both of his massive hands on my small waist and immediately pulls me back to his lap.

He positions me perfectly. We both are still completely clothed, but his now fully hard cock is pressing delectably against my cunt. I can tell how large he his, and the thought of him stretching me wide makes my pupils dilate immediately. He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m thinking.

When he starts rolling my hips over his erection, I can’t help but whimper at the sensation. His eyes bore into mine as he watches his handiwork. My hands find his hair, curling my fingers into his soft waves, gently tugging every time his motions cause my clit to rub against my lace underwear and jeans. 

As my pleasure is building, I suddenly feel brave. His excruciating stare is unbelievably sexy, but I need more. So I close the gap between our mouths again. He growls into my kiss, and his hands are surely leaving bruises on my hips.

I know I should let him be in complete control but I don’t fucking care in this moment. As he brings me closer and closer to my orgasm, I  need to taste his mouth.

Our tongues and teeth clash, fighting for dominance. My hands are tugging at his hair and he’s rocking my body back and forth faster and faster. I roll my hips and moan into his mouth wildly.

But he’s had enough of me trying to take control of the situation, and I suddenly feel one of his hands grab my hair and yank my head back. My face is tilted up to the sky, and I can no longer gaze upon him as I ride his body.

“You think you’re in control, little mouse? _ I don’t think so.  _ I decide when you can kiss me. I tell you when you can cum. Do you think you _deserve_ to cum?”

My scalp is on fire and my neck is sore at this angle, but he doesn’t stop pushing and grinding his stiff cock against my clit. I’m so close, but will my body to keep the orgasm at bay until he gives permission.

“Please, oh god please,” I beg pathetically to the heavens above.

“Please? Pitiful.”

His grips on my hair and hip are excruciating, but I never want it to stop.

“Please let me cum, Sir!” My eyes are starting to see spots mixed in with the real stars in the sky.

And then suddenly he lets go. His hands leave my frame, and his own body stops moving beneath me.

“No. I don’t think I will tonight,” he says with a bored tone.

I’m still straddling him, chest heaving for breath, surely soaking through my pants. I can feel how hard he is under me, I swear I can feel his cock twitch when I look at him with hurt eyes.

But I remind myself, this is my own fault, I got greedy. This is  _ his _ game and I’m just a pawn. If I want to win a reward, I have to play by his rules. Either let him have complete control, or don’t bother playing at all.

I swallow my pride and slowly crawl off of his body, slinking back to my own chair. Shaky hands light a cigarette and I try to calm my body that was precariously close to an orgasm just a moment ago.

He studies me as I smoke, and I let my eyes linger on the bulge of his pants and the sly smile painted across his face.

After a few moments he finally speaks.

“You’re learning. Good girl.”

The words send a new throb of pleasure between my legs, and I’m sure he’s aware of how much I love to hear it.

“It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“If it does, my punishment won’t be as kind. Remember your place.”

We smoke in silence for the next few minutes, and I finally drag myself away from his presence and drift back inside. I leave him on the balcony, alone with his own evil thoughts.

As I lay in bed, I consider touching myself and finishing the orgasm that’s still lingering. But I decide against it, knowing it would leave me feeling hollow instead of satisfied. 

If this was his goal, he succeeded. Nothing but his touch will do now.


	17. Chapter 17

I rise long before the sun, knowing I have a tremendous amount of work to accomplish before the dinner party. I’ve nailed down at least 30 RSVPs, and plan to cook for 40 just in case there are last minute extras that show.

Dressing in light blue jeans and a shirt I bought when I saw The Used in concert years ago, I throw my hair into a bun. My hands gently caress the garment bag hanging in my closet, tonight’s gown patiently waits for the evening’s festivities. 

I’ve prepped many of the ingredients, but there is so much to cook and bake. Some guests celebrate Christmas, others Hanukkah, I’ve tried my best to create an inclusive menu. Something for everyone.

Meats are placed in separate ovens to begin slow roasting throughout the day. I chop root vegetables that will soon join them. Different doughs are mixed for various desserts. Fruits are prepared for sauces and jellies. Spices are thrown into a pot of wine to mull over low heat.

Kylo hasn’t made an appearance by mid day, but I don’t have much time to worry about him. If he’s hungry, he’ll make his way to the kitchen. There are so many smells wafting through the apartment that it would be impossible not to find it.

For a brief moment I panic, but then I realize that many of the guests are important people from his line of work, so surely he won’t bail on his own party.

I have to remind myself to eat lunch, I’ve been working so intensely that I forgot breakfast completely and I’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

By mid afternoon, the hired wait-staff arrives in their formal attire. Ready to help prepare the dining and living room for guests, clean and set the dishes, line the table with serving platters that will soon hold the evening’s meal.

And yet still no Kylo.

Phasma arrives an hour early, thank god. I don’t have the mental space or energy to order around the staff while putting the different finishing touches on everything. She’s in her element, barking orders at the underlings.

Soon the dining room is full of a feast.

Appetizers of mini quiches, cheese and crackers, latkes with applesauce and sour cream, a spread of tropical fruit. A drink cart holds liquor, beer on ice, eggnog, mulled wine. 

A main course of roasted turkey, brisket, Yorkshire puddings, roasted potatoes, carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts, salad, cranberry sauce, dressing and gravy.

The dessert table is full of mince pies, jelly donuts, various Christmas cookies, trifle, and a bûche de Noël yule log centerpiece.

When I finally feel like I’ve done all I can, I’m double checking every detail when Phasma approaches.

“You’ve outdone yourself! But one question: Do you plan on attending the party in  _that_ _?”_ she jokes.

I’ve completely forgotten about my grungy appearance, my band tee and jeans now littered with stains from the day’s cooking.

“Oh fuck, you’re right. I should go get dressed, people will be here any minute. Um, I still haven’t heard from Kylo today...” I reply.

“He’ll show his face eventually, he always does. I’m sure he’s drinking whiskey in his studio, mentally preparing to mingle,” she chuckles.

I leave her in charge while I head back to my room to shower and quickly get ready.

Soon, I’m staring at myself in my closet’s full length mirror.

A blood red strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline hugs my torso, falling loose at my hips to just above the floor. Black peep-toe heels, higher than I normally feel comfortable in, make me feel more powerful. A thin silver necklace hangs to just between my cleavage. Simple black winged eyeliner, and a bold lipstick to match the dress. Hair curled and pinned in a classic Hollywood style.

I know I’m looking at myself, but this is a version I very rarely see. For the first time I truly feel like I’ll fit in with the upper class. I’m usually in vintage clothes, jeans, punk aesthetic. The woman staring back at me is a timeless beauty.

God, I hope he likes what he sees.

I hear guests down the hall, and nervous energy overtakes me for a moment. A few deep breaths and then I exit my room and head toward the living area to join the soirée.

Apparently the party goes on with or without Kylo. Men and women are hobnobbing, sipping their cocktails and enjoying lighthearted discussions. The candles have been lit, tinsel glitters on the trees, real snow falls in fluffy flakes outside the many windows of the penthouse.

It looks like most everyone has arrived by now, and they all seem to know each other so I pour myself a glass of mulled wine and then find an empty spot on one of the couches. I sit and observe those around me.

I see many eclectic and well dressed characters - these are obviously all artists or members of the upper crust of society. I only recognize Phasma and Amy, beautifully paired as always. Phasma is wearing a silver pantsuit, her wife’s emerald colored gown looks so beautiful against her ginger hair. 

They’re deep in conversation with another redhead, a man that surely must be Amy’s brother based on their resemblance. 

Sweet, kindhearted Amy catches my eye and waves me over. 

“We were just raving about you! I can’t believe you did all of this! Everything I’ve tasted so far is divine, and the apartment looks incredible!”

“Just doing my job,” I blush at her kind words. 

“And an exceptional job you’re doing,” says the man. He offers his hand and I assume it’s to shake, but he kisses my hand as he does a slight bow while introducing himself. “Armitage Hux. A _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance.”

I tell him my name as well, but apparently I’ve already been the topic of their conversation. 

“I’ve been singing your praises to Armie here,” says Amy. He scoffs at the nickname but it’s impossible to ever be mad at Amy, I’m sure. 

“If you’re ever looking to work abroad, be sure to reach out. I’ve heard many good things,” he croons. His eyes have a flirtatious twinkle, and I suddenly realize he’s still lightly holding my hand. 

I politely remove myself from his grasp and concentrate on being as professional as possible. The _last_ thing I need is another jealous Kylo moment. 

We discuss his gallery in London, he makes sure to let me know I’m welcome at any time. Amy tries her best to convince him to move stateside, jokingly elbows his side when telling him he’s missing out. 

I’m in the middle of explaining my different trips around the world to experience regional cuisines, when suddenly my heart stops. 

The sight of  _him_ in an expensive black suit, black shirt, black dress shoes, hair falling in gorgeous tussled waves, absolutely takes my breath away. Holy  _fuck_ _,_ he cleans up well. 

Kylo is conversing with an older man, brows furrowed and nodding along to whatever his companion is saying. He sips his crystal glass of liquor slowly, and I can’t take my eyes away from his lips. 

I lose all train of thought, and quickly change the subject so someone else can continue the chatter. My brain can’t gaze at Kylo looking like  _that_ and form coherent thoughts at the same time.

As Phasma is discussing something or other, I’m absentmindedly adding “mhm” or “oh really?” and other distracted phrases. But my mind isn’t listening to a word around me. I can only focus on Kylo.

And as if he can read my mind, his eyes snap up and immediately find mine. The people we’re with keep talking, but we’re staring at each other from across the room. It’s as if the rest of the world disappears.

I watch as his eyes take in the sight of me, moving up and down my frame. The dress, the shoes, the makeup. I watch as he drinks it all in, has a physical reaction to my appearance. He stands a little taller, grips his glass a little tighter, his pupils dilate wide to see every single detail. He looks  _hungry_ as he devours me with his eyes.

I don’t shrink to dust on the floor. I hold my head high, confident in my appearance, confident that he  _ more than likes _ what he sees.

My heart stops again as I see him beckon me over.

I muster my courage, sip my wine, and excuse myself from the conversation and present company. I can’t help but notice Armitage’s disappointment at my leaving his side. No time to deal with that right now.

He introduces me to Andy Snoke, his mentor. I shake the old man’s crooked hand, do my best to impress the person with such influence over Kylo.

It’s odd to see someone other than Kylo in control of a situation, but I can see how much he respects his mentor. We discuss my cooking school training and background, Snoke wants to know all about the woman that’s been getting Kylo’s life in order.

“I’ve never seen him so focused. And at such a pivotal moment in his career. I wouldn’t want to him to become...  _distracted._ Do your best to see that doesn’t happen.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and I look to Kylo for reassurance but he offers little.

“Of course, sir. That’s my job after all, managing the household. I’ll be sure to keep him on track.” I clear my throat nervously. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but if you’ll excuse me I should go check in on the kitchen.”

I want to add in a snarky comment about knowing my place, but I don’t. The old guy gives me the creeps but I would never say such a thing to Kylo. I can tell how important he is to him.

For the rest of the evening I rotate between the kitchen and mingling with guests. Everyone other than Snoke is absolutely lovely. I meet so many new people, and hope that I can form real connections with some of them.

The night goes wonderfully. We all eat, drink, are merry. We pop Christmas crackers, toast to the holiday season, and even Kylo seems happy and relaxed once Snoke makes an early exit.

Eventually the guests filter out and Phasma and I task the wait-staff with cleaning and washing dishes. After midnight I finally send them all home and tell Phasma I can handle the rest myself tomorrow.

In time, the apartment is empty again.

I’m standing in the living room, kicking off my heels and unpinning my hair. I sip my last glass of wine while removing my jewelry. I’m contemplating which pajamas to slip into when I feel his presence in the room.

“You didn’t disappoint,” he says in that husky voice that drives me wild.

“Thank you, Sir.”

His eyes are running up and down my frame again, his stare is lighting me on fire. Slowly he walks to me, and I patiently stand in place wondering what will come next. He sets his whiskey glass on the end table, and then circles behind my body.

I feel his large hands on my waist, fingers tracing my shape. And then he’s unzipping my dress, peeling it from my body.

It drops to the floor and I shiver, but it isn’t because I’m standing in nothing but a strapless bra and thong.

I’m trembling with anticipation and I know he can sense it. I’m sure he’s savoring the control he has over my body.

He circles back in front of me, seductively drags a finger down my neck and then across my collarbone. His intense eyes pierce into mine as he commands me.

“Crawl to my bedroom.”


	18. Chapter 18

I don’t question him, but I do hesitate for a fraction of a second. He repeats his command. 

“Get on all fours. And crawl to my bedroom.”

Knowing that he surely won’t repeat himself again, I obediently do as he says. I sink down to the carpet and place my hands and knees on the ground. Looking up at him from this angle, he’s absolutely  intimidating in the _best_ way possible.

His eyes are hyper focused, he’s watching every one of my muscles as I move. I make my way off of the rug and onto the wood floors, the hard surface begins to sting but I dutifully keep moving toward the hall.

I dare to glance over my shoulder, and see him slowly walking directly behind me. He’s removing his suit jacket. Undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

I continue to crawl.

As I slink my way down the hallway, I realize I’ve never been in his room. Never even glanced inside of it. And the fact that he’s allowing me in, must mean something. Right? Is this a hint of intimacy? Or just a need for total control?

I look over my shoulder at the predator  _stalking_ me.

He’s rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows. His eyes are so dark. It’s terrifying. I never want him to stop looking at me this way. The expression on his face tells me that it would be foolish to look back again.

I continue to crawl.

My knees and palms are undoubtedly bright red at this point, I can feel the tender pang of light bruises forming on my kneecaps. But if anything, the pain fuels me forward. I want the reward that comes at the end of this journey. I  _need_ it.

He quietly gazes down upon my body in this prone position. I know he’s vigilantly observing every muscle movement. He has a perfect view of my ass, exposed in a lace thong.

The apartment is eerily silent after being so full of laughter and friends just hours before. The only sound comes from his shoes and their measured pace behind me.

His bedroom is the furthest point from the living room, and I know he’s getting off on how much he’s making me work. I crawl past the library, my room, down the eastern hallway studios. And then finally we’ve made it to his bedroom door.

I know better than to stand, so I wait on all fours.

He walks ahead of me and swings the door open. And before I have time to think, he scoops me off the floor and throws me over his strong shoulder as if I’m nothing more than a rag doll.

As he walks further into the room, he’s gripping my legs while my head and torso hang over his broad back. I try to look around and get a sense of my bearings, but it’s dark. He tosses me onto the bed before I have a chance to let my eyes adjust.

My half naked body hits a plush mattress and silky soft black sheets. It’s heavenly. For a moment my body relaxes, but then I blink rapidly until my eyes focus. I look at the devil standing before me.

I’m on my back, propped up on my elbows. Minimal amounts of fabric cover my most private areas. I patiently wait for him to make the first move. He doesn’t. He stares down at me with concentrated eyes.

“Ground rules first,” he says.

“Rules?”

“I have  _specific_ taste. I know what I want and how to achieve it. And you must consent before we can continue.”

Oh god. Blood is pumping wildly through my veins and I can hear the dull thud of my pulse in my ears. I have a feeling I know what he means, but if we’re going to have an open conversation now is the time.

“And what do you want?” I ask.

“Control. I want complete control over your body.”

“That’s fine-“ I begin to answer.

“Let me finish,” he reprimands. “You need to listen carefully, and consider it thoroughly. Control comes in many forms. You will do what I say. You will obey any commands. You will let me  _hurt_ you. In turn I will pleasure you. Take care of your body. Make you feel things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.”

My breathing is shallow, and although I’m slightly scared I want to scream yes from the top of my lungs. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. I let him continue.

“Do you have any hard limits? Anything that is specifically off the table? Take a moment to think.”

My brain swiftly goes through every sexual scenario I’ve been in, every porn I’ve watched under covers in the dead of night, every fucked up fantasy I’ve ever had. I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t want him to do to me.

I try my best to keep my voice steady as I answer. “Not that I know of, no.”

“Good girl,” he says, which makes the throbbing between my thighs even more prominent. “You will always be allowed to stop me if things become too much or you are no longer enjoying the moment. Always.”

“I understand,” I say. I’ve forever enjoyed being a bottom. The one with the  _true_ power.

“We will use safe words. Are you familiar?”

This is something I  do have some experience with. Although I’m positive that none of my previous partners will compare to this one. I’ve had exes that dabbled in light BDSM, but it was never enough for me. Kylo will be  _more_ than enough. My body is tingling with anticipation.

“Yes. My words are ‘yellow’ for when I want you to continue, but less severely. And ‘red’ for full stop. Is that okay?” I ask.

He flashes a sinister smile, proud that I’m comprehending his game so quickly. Continuing with the rules, he tells me I’m to reply to questions with “yes, Sir” or “no, Sir” and that any deviation will result in punishment. If I ever go against a command, I’ll be punished.

“But you  want to punish me, don’t you?” I ask boldly.

“Yes,” he answers darkly.

“I understand, Sir.”

“And you want it too, don’t you? I could tell the moment we met that you’re a dirty  _slut_ _._ Now you’re  _my slut_ _._ No one else’s, is that clear? You belong to me now.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m your dirty slut,” I answer. And his words are music to my ears. The satisfaction on his face drives me wild. I want nothing more than to please this terrifying man.

I look up at him, towering above me. I wait patiently, legs slightly trembling, and I can feel the wetness pooling in my panties. I could die right now and feel fulfilled.

I want him to control me. Push my body to its limits. Take me to places I’ve never dreamed of. All of my adult life I’ve been searching for a partner like this. Someone who will hurt me without remorse. Someone who will twist me inside out and reshape what it means to feel pleasure. Someone who knows what the  fuck they’re doing.

And Kylo Ren knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. 


	19. Chapter 19

I’m tied to his bed. 

Each ankle is bound with black cotton braided rope, intricately wrapped and secured to discreet hooks on the footboard. 

He took great care to tie each ankle to its hook, making sure the rope was tight but not  _too_ tight. His knots are delicate yet strong. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. 

But I don’t want to. 

Bra removed, I’m clothed in only my underwear, my arms are still unbound, and I’m spread out on Kylo’s bed. Waiting. 

I watch as he lights a candle, the flame flickers in his menacing eyes. The light casts a warm glow around the room, the shadows make everything feel more sinister. Sensual. 

He then walks to his shelf, ponders over the books, and then chooses one. What? A...  book?  I’m tied to his bed and he wants to do some reading? I know better than to question his actions aloud. 

Walking back to the bed, chosen book in hand, he stops at his nightstand and pulls something out of the drawer.

My eyes expand when I recognize the object. 

_A riding crop._

I don’t know what game he’s setting up with these two seemingly unrelated objects, but I’m beyond eager to play. The anticipation is mounting and my nerves are on edge. I need release of some kind, any kind. 

Instead, he hands me the book. 

Confusion is surely written all over my face. I’m in just a thong, tied to his bed, he has a crop in his hands, and he wants me... _to read?_

I look up at his dark and handsome face as I take the book in my hands, noting that it’s a collection of E.E. Cummings poems.

“Turn to page 31. Read to me. I know how you enjoy poetry. So read, without stopping. If you stop, you’ll be punished,” his eyes look to the instrument in his hand. “Do you understand?” He shifts his attention back to me, intensely staring at my face. 

“Yes, Sir, I understand,” and I tremble at his look of approval as I follow one of his rules so diligently. 

“Begin,” he commands. 

With my legs still bound and spread wide, I turn to the appropriate page. It’s a work titled “as we lie side by side”. 

I read to him.

_“as we lie side by side_

_my little breasts become two sharp delightful strutting towers and_

_i shove hotly the lovingness of my belly against you”_

I pause, realizing that this is isn’t just poetry, it’s erotic poetry. His actions are instantaneous. With a soft crack, the riding crop makes contact with my left breast.

He doesn’t quite hit me full force, and the blow lands partly on fleshy skin and partly on my nipple.  _Delightful strutting towers_ indeed, both nipples are now rock hard and I have goosebumps littered across my torso.

I let out a soft gasp, and it takes my brain a moment to register the sensation. Fuck, that felt  good . But I remember my task, and continue reading.

_“your arms are young;_

_your arms will convince me, in the complete silence speaking_

_upon my body_

_their ultimate slender language.”_

I’m trying to concentrate on the words on the page, but out of my peripheral I notice him moving to the foot of the bed. I feel his weight lowering the mattress. 

But I can’t see with the book in the way, so I chance a quick glance.

This time the crop meets my stomach. He uses more force this time, and I let out a moan as I arch my back. My skin is stinging, and I notice the red mark quickly forming. He stops moving, and I take that as my cue to continue reading. 

_“do not laugh at my thighs._

_there is between my big legs a crisp city._

_when you touch me_

_it is Spring in the city; the streets beautifully writhe”_

Another pause as I feel him moving my underwear to the side, and my breath catches in my throat. 

“Did I say you could stop?” he reprimands. The crop roughly smacks into my thigh, a red welt forming instantly. 

“N-no, Sir.” 

I want nothing more than to watch whatever he’s about to do, but I know better. I read.

_“it is for you; do not frighten them,_

_all the houses terribly tighten_

_upon your coming;_

_and they are glad_

_as you fill the streets of my city with children”_

At this particularly dirty line, I feel the magical sensation of his mouth finding my cunt. His tongue slides up from my opening towards my clit, and my legs flinch but are kept in place by the ropes. 

I let out a primal moan, the sensations he’s creating are unbelievable. My eyes flicker closed, I’m lost in the fucking  fantastic feeling of his tongue swirling circles on my clit.

He pauses, and a split second later the crop whacks down on the soft inner section of my other thigh. The pain, mixed with the pleasure, makes me feel slightly dizzy. But it snaps me back to reality, back to my assigned task. 

_“my love you are a bright mountain which feels._

_you are a keen mountain and an eager island whose_

_lively slopes are based always in the me which is shrugging”_

Kylo is back to licking and sucking, and it takes absolutely everything I have to continue reading. My words are breathy and slow, my hips are bucking up to meet his mouth, my sentences are jilted but I do my best not to pause completely. 

_“under you and around you and forever: i am the hugging sea._

_O mountain you cannot escape me”_

He slips two massive fingers inside of me, stretching my walls, and my head whips to the side as I groan. Oh  _fuck,_ that feels amazing. He sits up, fingers never leaving my cunt, and roughly slaps my breast with his free hand. Abandoning the crop, he now wants his own skin to the inflict the pain. I want it too. 

I continue reading, through my haze of pleasure.

_“your roots are anchored in my silence; therefore O mountain_

_skillfully murder my breasts, still and always_

_i will hug you solemnly into me.”_

As I finish the poem, his fingers dive into my opening faster and faster. I can feel myself climbing closer to orgasm, reaching my peak at a swift rate due to different throbs of pain he’s inflicted across my body.

I’m unsure of whether I should read the next poem or not, but he answers my unspoken question immediately. Grabbing the book from my hands and throwing it to the floor, he climbs on top of my body while his fingers fuck me.

The weight of his body on mine is divine, and I can feel his stiff erection against my leg. His fingers move in and out without mercy, his thumb circles my clit, and his hazel brown eyes seem jet black in this light.

“Do you want to cum, _little whore?”_

“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.

His hand motions are unrelenting as he drives me straight to the cliff and throws me over the edge. In any normal circumstance my legs would snap together as I cum, but the tightly knotted ropes keep them in place as I scream in pleasure.

He doesn’t stop until I’m on the brink of tears, body pushed to its orgasmic limit.

“Such a good girl,” he softly praises in my ear, kissing the nape of my neck.

When he stands from the bed and gently unties my ankles, I don’t want it to be over. I want to please him. Need to please him. Need to reciprocate.

I’m about to tell him as much, when through my orgasmic high my eyes flutter open and I’m graced with the most beautiful sight.

He’s unbuttoning his shirt, neatly placing it on a chair. Jesus _fucking_ Christ, his body is incredible. Muscles chiseled by the gods themselves. His pale chest is flecked with birthmarks, toned muscles flexing with each movement.

My pulse is already beating wildly, but somehow finds a way to move blood even faster through my veins. My breath stops completely as he reaches to take off his belt and remove his pants.

When he’s standing naked before me, I can’t help but stare. He’s  _huge_ ,much larger than any other partner I’ve had in the past. I’m sure my face is a mixture of longing and fear. And when I look back to his own face, I know how much he’s enjoying my worry.

He walks back to me and I move to take off my underwear but he beats me to it. Ripping them off my body, I’m sure they’re trashed but I couldn’t care less in this moment.

We’re both naked, and I feel absolutely no shame. Being in his presence makes me feel strong, sexy, wanted.

Kylo climbs back onto the bed, grabs me by my sore ankles, and in one swift motion flips me over onto my stomach. I let out a small gasp, and have no time to react as he pulls me up on all fours.

With one hand tightly gripping the back of my neck, he slides the tip of his cock back and forth along my slick entrance and clit. He presses against my opening, and I can already tell this is going to hurt. But fuck, I want him to so badly I don’t care.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, he presses inside of me. My mouth lets out a low moan, my knees tremble, and my hips press back to meet him. I can’t help but clench around his width, and the sensation causes him to let out his own sounds of pleasure. 

Hearing him is enough to make me cum a second time, and before I think my mouth is speaking. 

“Fuck me.  _Please_.Fuck me, Sir.”

Kylo growls and his hips snap into mine. I scream as I feel him hit my cervix, and my arms buckle. I’m face down on the bed, his hand leaves my neck to grab my hip, and then I hear the loud crack of his free hand smacking my ass. 

“That’s right. Take it.  _Fucking take it,_ _”_ he demands. 

He’s rough, he’s unrelenting, and he was right when he once told me he might scare me the first time he fucks me.

I’m helpless beneath him, being stretched further than I thought possible. The pain is incredible, but it’s sending lightning bolts of pleasure up and down my body. Each unkind smack to my backside amplifies the sensations I’m feeling.

As I cum a second time, he’s still pounding into me. I scream into the mattress, body convulsing under him. His moans and growls are becoming more and more animalistic, his hip thrusts more erratic. Over and over and over again, his hard length dives into my cunt.

Feeling that he’s close, hearing his ragged breathing, and knowing that I’m on the pill, I give him permission to finish wherever he pleases.

“Cum inside me, Sir.  _Cum inside your little whore_ _,”_ I beg.

Hearing this sends him to his peak. Both of his large hands grab my waist, surely leaving deep bruises. He snaps into me a few more times before pressing as tightly to my body as he can. I feel his hot cum deep inside of me, feel him twitch as he milks his cock completely. 

I feel used, I feel  _ amazing. _


	20. Chapter 20

As I lay broken upon Kylo’s bed, a sticky sweaty mess, he leaves me. By this point I know better than to worry, or question his actions, and when he returns with a warm damp towel I’m thankful for his soft touches as he cleanses my skin. 

Gently wiping between my legs, and then kissing each red mark that will soon bruise, he takes care of my body just as he promised. In time, my sore muscles remember how to move and I quietly vacate the room as I hear him starting his shower.

We didn’t talk much, but that’s okay. I didn’t need words of validation after what we had just done. His aftercare was enough for me, it spoke the words unspoken. So I tiptoe back to my own room on the opposite side of the penthouse, taking painfully methodical steps as my body tries to regain its strength.

Soaking in my bathtub until the water is cold, I empty and refill it twice. My muscles are thankful for the heat and rest.

By the time I crawl into my own bed, it’s almost 4 A.M.

I fall into a deep sleep, one without dreams. My entire body shuts off and I don’t stir until I feel bright sunshine falling across my face. Looking to my alarm clock, I realize with a panic that it’s 1 P.M. and if I don’t get my ass moving, I’ll miss breakfast  _and_ lunch.

Scrambling to make myself presentable, my body is still sore. Simple tasks like dressing are achingly slow. But I’m in an  _incredible_ mood. Each time a muscle tightens, or each time I touch a bruise, I flash back to last night’s experience.

And  _what_ an experience it was.

I’m not sure what to expect from Kylo today, but I remind myself: hot and cold. That’s the game.  _Hot and cold._ Don’t get your hopes up, I tell myself, and don’t be surprised when he’s icy.

When I finally make it to the kitchen, the only sign of Kylo is a half pot of fresh coffee. Which I’m beyond grateful for.

I make a simple lunch of leftovers from last night’s party, but I get no response when I send a text asking if he’s hungry.

Instead of dwelling on Kylo... what last night means for me... for us... is there an us... of course there’s no us... how will this affect my job... has this happened with other employees... how many...

I shove those questions aside and focus on what I do know. I know I’m good at my job, I know I have work to do, I know that I if I don’t have any expectations then I can’t be disappointed.

I message the housekeepers, letting them know to drop by today. After tidying the apartment, I decide to leave most of the Christmas decorations on display. I’m not ready to forget last night and it’s over a week until the actual holiday anyway.

When the clutter has been cleared and the penthouse is ready for a deep clean, I give the maids some space and decide to run errands while they work.

Messaging Vic, I ask for a ride, and silently hope things won’t be _too_ weird between us.

I’ve been avoiding him since the warehouse. I know I shouldn’t have, but I needed to put some space between that night and now.

I spoke to Rose briefly after she made it home to New Jersey, but we haven’t had a chance to truly catch up since I’ve been so busy with party planning. Hopefully Vic isn’t  too mad.

When he pulls in front of the building where I’m smoking and chatting with Jimmy, he greets me with a broad smile.

“Afternoon, miss! Where are we headed?” he asks while opening the door.

I slide into the back of the town car and wave goodbye to Jimmy, and then let Vic know we’re heading to Phasma’s office.

“No problem!” he replies in a chipper tone.

The whole situation is odd and I’m not sure if his good mood is sarcastic or genuine. Unsure of how to broach the subject, I decide to just dive right in as he drives us downtown.

“So about the other night... I’m really sorry for bailing on you and Rose. I-“ but I stop when I hear him chuckle and see his twinkling eyes in the rear view.

“Don’t apologize!” he says. “Honestly I should be thanking you. Rose is a very sweet girl, I’m glad I got some one on one time with her.”

_ Oh. _

Okay thank god. This instantly makes me feel a million times better. Vic is such a great guy, and truly they’re a match made in heaven. Good for Rose. I’m going to get every detail out of her later, I’ll make her spill the tea.

“Yes, she’s the sweetest. You better be good, or you’ll have  _me_ to deal with,” I tease.

“A terrifying prospect,” he jokes back.

We’re back to our friendly vibe, and it’s nice to not have worry hanging over my head anymore. We spend most of the drive discussing Rose, Vic wants to know all of her likes and dislikes and how to best impress her. I do my best to set him up for success.

“When will you see her next?”

“Well Kylo emailed to say he’s going out of town for the holidays, so I think she’ll be spending a few days here in the city while I have time off. I promise not to dominate all of her time,” he says with a smile.

He’s going out of town again? So soon?

I knew I’d be spending the holidays on my own, but I didn’t think it would be in an  _empty_ apartment. Oh well, at least Rose will be around to keep me company.

When we finally arrive at Phasma’s, snow is thick in the air and swirling in the brisk wind. I ask Vic to hang around, and then quickly make my way inside. She’s waiting for me, more pulled together than I am after a night of drinking. I expected nothing less.

“Ah, thank you for coming,” she says. “I need some help cataloging, and then you’ll have to drop by a gallery and pick up some of Kylo’s work. If I leave you a list, can you handle this on your own? I have meetings to attend this afternoon.”

“Of course,” I assure her.

We spend a few minutes going over what needs to be finished today, and then she leaves me to my work.

I’m organizing and cataloging different abstract paintings. Some of his early works, Phasma explained. There are no discernible shapes or images, just colors and textures. They’re dark. Painful. Each brush stroke violently exploding across the canvases.

Early work. Does that mean college? When he lost touch with his parents?

I was told that these works will never be exhibited, and that if it wasn’t for Phasma they’d be in the trash. She swears that some day he’ll be considered one of the greatest artists who ever lived, and she wants to keep track of every single one of his pieces.

Swiftly finishing the task, I store each painting with great care. I feel privileged to have seen them at all, knowing Kylo would never go out of his way to show off this period of his life.

Vic swings around the block and I rush through the blizzard to jump into the back of the town car.

“Next stop?”

“Um, let’s see what Phasma wrote down... A gallery owned by someone named Enric Pryde? East Village,” I inform him. 

“Oh great, that old prick. Have fun with that,” he says with a sarcastic roll of his emerald eyes. 

We drive along the city, my forehead resting against the window. I watch the people bustling by, sidewalk vendors hustling in the snow, the setting sun casting a rainbow of colors against the myriad of buildings. 

When we arrive, Vic tells me “You’re on your own, I hate that guy.”

Thankfully I only need to pick up some photographs that are being rotated out of the gallery. Knowing I have yet another difficult person to deal with, I square my shoulders and walk inside with my head held high. 

The space is dark and moody, with eclectic works of art filling the space. Paintings and pictures line the walls, sculptures fill the floors. I wind my way around until I finally spot who I assume is this Pryde I’ve been directed to meet. 

My stomach lurches when I see him speaking to a wrinkled old man with a scowl permanently etched across his face. 

“Mr. Snoke, how lovely to run into you again so soon,” I say with feigned politeness. I still have a bitter taste in my mouth from how much he looked down on me at the party. Pompous ass. 

“Ah yes,  you again,” he says with a bored tone. “The assistant of the week.”

Pryde doesn’t greet me with a smile, and I know from the look on his face that this isn’t a kind man either. Both have sinister looks about them, and I can’t fathom why Kylo surrounds himself with people like this. 

“You’re late,” snaps Pryde. 

Noting that he has a British accent, I wonder just how few Americans Kylo actually works with. I stifle a laugh, and the severe looks on both men’s faces immediately quash all humor in my mind.

“I was completing a task for Ph-“

“Pathetic child,” drawls Snoke. Is this where Kylo learned his fucking manners? “I don’t care for your excuses. Just do your job.”

I want to slap him. No, I want to deck him straight in that disfigured face. But I don’t, I try my best to rise above it. I’ve  _just_ gotten on Kylo’s good side, if you can call it that, and I’m not going to jeopardize whatever is happening between us.

Instead I ask Pryde to lead me to what I’ve come to collect, and I grab the portfolio without another glance Snoke’s way.But he gets in one last jab before I leave the gallery.

As I’m walking out the door he calls my name.

“Do remember what I said about not distracting my apprentice. He’ll tire of you eventually. I’m tired of you already.”

It takes every drop of self control to not shout  _“Fuck you!_ ”over my shoulder as I walk back into the snow.


	21. Chapter 21

I’m absolutely fuming as I get in the car, skin prickling with the heat of annoyance. Despite the bitter chill in the air, I rip the coat and scarf off my body as soon as I slam the door closed.

“I see you met Pryde,” says Vic in an apologetic tone.

“Yeah and to top it off, Snoke was there as well,” I huff.

“Oh god, a two for one. I’m so sorry for whatever they said to you. Don’t let them under your skin, those guys are evil if you ask me.”

Vic laughs as I vent some un-ladylike expletives, and soon I’m laughing too. No use getting upset over some stiff old dudes. Stay focused.

Eventually my attention turns to the leather portfolio in my hands. Curiosity overcomes me and I decide to investigate the contents.

The front is neatly labeled: “Balance Series”. I open to find a stack of black and white photographs of nature. The closer I look, the more the title makes sense. He’s blended images together to create harmony between two opposing ideas.

A swaddled baby atop a freshly dug grave. A bright sun casting dark ominous shadows. A dry desert with glittering falling snow. Plants growing from decay under the earth. Young lions next to a bloody carcass. A singular sapling in a forest destroyed by wildfire. The perfectly even horizon of water meeting sky.

Once again I’m speechless. But I am left wondering how such a dark man can find balance in everything except himself. I’ve yet to see the light in Kylo, aside from his tender aftercare last night. It has been the only evidence letting me know it’s possible, that there is  some part of him that’s capable.

When I realize how close we are to our building, I quickly reorganize the photographs and place them back in the portfolio with care. 

The apartment is sparkling clean when I get upstairs, and still no sign of Kylo so I send a text letting him know I’m preparing dinner. No reply, but at least this time he reads what I’ve sent.

I have a chill down to my bones and I’m in the mood for warm comfort food. I start by creating and kneading a dough, and then leave it to rest until it doubles in size.

As the gluten is working its magic, I pull out my journal to jot down some thoughts while sitting in front of the fireplace. The sparks spring to life at the click of a button, the glow of the flames sending flickers of light across the room.

Eventually I resume cooking. First a simple sauce of rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, chili garlic paste, and soy sauce. A hearty filling made of ground pork, chives, and spices.

Soon I’m forming the plump dumplings by hand, filled and then pleated until closed. Cabbage is placed in the bottom of each bamboo steamer tray, dumplings neatly arranged inside, and then it’s all put over boiling water to steam.

Kylo finally slinks into the kitchen as dinner is finishing. It’s a late meal, I’ve been running behind all day.

“Steamed dumplings, if you’re interested,” I inform him while cleaning my work station.

It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since last night. As my eyes meet his, I have sudden flashbacks: _When he marked my body with bruises. When he fucked me until I could barely stand. When he cleaned his cum from my dripping cunt._

Christ. The memories send electric shockwaves through my torso, I can feel my heart beating between my thighs. I do my best to outwardly remain as neutral as possible even though my insides are squirming. 

I make us both a plate and pass him a set of chopsticks. As we eat I can’t help but watch his large hands gracefully work the small pieces of wood, or his strong jaw chewing the food I’ve prepared. My eyes loiter on his full lips as he licks the excess sauce that lingers. 

My mind is still reminiscing about last night’s activities when  he starts a conversation. 

“I need you to book flights, make sure they’re first class. And hotels as well. I updated the calendar with dates and times.” 

As he speaks, I pull my laptop over to where I’m sitting and open the spreadsheet to see “December 20-23: Copenhagen” and “December 23-26: Amsterdam”. When Vic mentioned that Kylo would be out of town for the holiday, I didn’t realize that meant  _another hemisphere._

I start typing away, looking up travel and lodging when he interjects. 

“I assume you have a passport.”

“Yes of cou-“ I stop, unsure of what he’s implying here. “W-wait, what?” I stammer. 

“A passport. You can’t enter another country without one,” he rolls his eyes. “And I assume based on the travels listed on your resume that yours is up to date?” He stares at me like he can’t believe he’s repeating the question. 

“Of course. Y-yes. It’s up to date.” I swallow thickly. “I’m traveling with you?” At this point I know I sound like an idiot but I need him to clarify what exactly is happening here. 

He sighs. “I’m bringing photographs to a gallery. I’ll have meetings with clients while in town, I need someone there to make arraignments. You’re up to the task, yes?” 

I try my hardest not to squeal, but I can’t contain my excitement as I vehemently nod my head. I’ve never been to Denmark, so I’m excited to explore. And I have  _very_ fond memories of The Netherlands.

“Absolutely, I’m all over it. I’ll work on the scheduling.”

The rest of the night and most of the next morning are spent making all of the arraignments.

First class seats for two. Lush hotels, adjoining rooms. A different driver in each country. Correspondence with the Danish gallery owner who will be showing the “Balance” series. Restaurant reservations for business meals and deals. I get absolutely everything squared away.

After getting completely caught up with work, I decide to write in the library.

I’m lost in my journal but then I hear his boots walking down the hall and into the room. He’s searching for a particular book, high on a shelf that I could never reach without a ladder. He runs a hand through his beautifully tussled dark hair, his brows are furrowed in concentration while scouring the titles.

Laying on the couch in front of the fireplace, I’m on my stomach and propped up on my elbows while writing. He doesn’t notice me at first, but then his eyes snap over to my body.

I can see gears turning in his mind as his eyes rake up and down my form. I watch him watch me. Eventually he speaks.

“I want to photograph you. Your curves are... aesthetically pleasing. The juxtaposition of your figure and the angles of the shelves behind you.” I can see him framing the photo mentally. “Don’t move.”

He leaves, I’m assuming to get his camera. And I dutifully stay still. I realize that he didn’t actually  _ask_ if he could take my picture, but I know I would have agreed if he had. 

When he returns, he does in fact have a camera in one hand. And a  _bundle of rope_ in the other.

I blush profusely, remembering a few nights ago when I had my last interaction with Kylo and rope. He sets it on a table and then begins snapping a few pictures of me. I’m not sure whether to move or pose, whether to look at him or not. So I go back to writing in my journal, letting him photograph my body as it was when he first spotted me on the couch.

“Stand up. Take off your clothes,” he demands.

Without question, I do as he says with a “Yes, Sir” for good measure. Soon I’m standing before him, completely bare. Warmed only by the crackling flames in the hearth. Goosebumps dot my skin, anticipation for whatever is to come. 

He walks to the table and trades his camera for the rope.

“You remember your safe words, yes? Tell me.”

“Yellow and red.” I know he remembers them as well, but he’s setting the scene and we need to be on the same page.

“Good girl. Tell me yellow if anything is  too tight, red if you want to be released. Do you understand?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

His hand runs up the curve of my hip, and then the curve of my breast. My breath catches in my throat at the unexpected soft touch. His thumb brushes my nipple, causing me to let out a soft moan. A quick glance to his crotch shows a slight bulge in his pants already. Now that I know what’s underneath the fabric, I can feel myself growing even wetter.

Before he begins, he looks over my skin. Taking note of the bruises from the other night. As well as the color of my skin untied. 

Slowly, methodically, he begins wrapping and tying around my chest. The rope isn’t as soft as what bound my ankles to his bed. The natural fiber has a bit of a bite as he cinches it to my skin. He makes sure it’s tight and secure, but never cutting off blood flow. I watch in awe as his practiced hands easily turn the rope into intricate knots.

After a few minutes, I stand before him in a harness made of rope woven into different diamond patterns. The skin around my chest is bound, but my actual breasts are exposed. His intense eyes finally meet mine as he whispers to himself, “Perfection.”

Taking another length of the black rope, he begins cuffing my wrists. Looping around my limbs, binding my skin from wrist to just below my elbows. The more he ties my body, the calmer I feel. I’m completely sober, but a blissful high is washing over me as I relinquish more and more control of my body. 

Next he ties my hips. Pulling the rope tight, glancing at my face every so often to make sure I’m still comfortable through the pain. When he’s finished with this area, he gently lays me back down on the couch before starting on my ankles.

Eventually he stands back to admire his craftsmanship. 

My chest, hips, ankles and wrists are all bound by his intricate knots. My naked body has been transformed into something else. I can tell he’s  rock hard. The journey towards this end product has been extremely satisfying for him. I’d let him tie me every single day just to receive the look on his face right now.

He snaps more photos, and if I felt any ounce of shame before it’s completely gone now. Every so often he moves my body for me, posing me in different ways. He gifts me with soft caresses in the gaps of skin between rope. My mind is euphorically floating during this period of no control.

In time, he begins unknotting the rope. When I’m completely untied, there are slight red marks from the rope and he takes even more pictures before they fade. The patterns he created on my skin linger in a haunting yet beautiful way.

When he’s finally done, he sets his camera down and commands me: “Get on your knees.” Music to my ears. 

As he fucks my mouth, I do my best to maintain eye contact. I want to look him straight in the face as he uses my body as a toy. I can feel my wetness dripping down the inside of my thighs, and I moan as he grabs the back of my head to force his length in even further.

My eyes are tearing up and I know spit is sloppily trickling down my chin as I choke on his thick length. But he speaks sweet words of praise while roughly pounding into my mouth. Talk about  _juxtaposition._

“Good girl” and “yes baby” and “you’re so beautiful” fall from his lips while I gag and wretch on his unrelenting cock. 

I know he’s close, can feel him twitching while slamming into the back of my throat. As I swallow his thick cum, the constrictions cause him to painfully grab fistfuls of my hair. And when that makes me moan, the vibrations make him buck into my mouth a few more times as he rides the wave of his orgasm. 

He pulls out of my mouth, and we maintain unwavering eye contact as I swallow every drop of his seed.

“Good girl,” he praises while staring down at me.

After I pull on my clothes and he leaves, with the book he came for in the first place, I reread the fresh words in my journal.

_A mermaid sits upon a rock, singing to a traveler on the horizon: serenades and crashing waves, she sends sonnets across the sea. Slow and steady sailing bring the man ever closer to the shore - the siren sings the sailor a lullaby of lilacs and laughter. He dives from his ship and soon she’s swimming with him, carrying him deeper and deeper down into her depths._

As I reflect on what I’ve written, I have to ask myself: am I the siren or the sailor?


	22. Chapter 22

The next few days go on as usual. Kylo locks himself away in his studios, I run errands and cook.  I’ve finally gotten the chance to catch up with Rose as well. 

_Okay sooo what’s up with you and Vic??_

_I was just planning on being the distraction for you, but then he was so nice!! We like the same music and books, and we sat in his car forever talking._

_Just talking??? Spill it!!_

_Okay okay we made out a little!! Aahhh!!_

_And how was it?!?_

_Incredible. I take back what I said that night, I owe YOU the favor ;) So you and Kylo...?_

_Me and Kylo, oh god. He’s a total freak. But I’m still not so sure about him..._

_But you love that shit!_

_Right right. I just can’t figure him out, ya know?_

_Keep your wits about you, don’t get in too deep._

_Easier said than done, Rosie._

_You’re a smart girl, don’t let him warp your perspective. And we’ll talk more in person. Can’t wait to see you soon!_

_About that......._

When I explain where I’ll be spending the week of Christmas, she freaks out in the best way. We reminisce about our time in Amsterdam on a spring break trip, discuss which places are worth revisiting. And we’re both thankful that I’ll be stateside for New Year’s Eve so we can spend it with Poe and Finn. 

I send her photos of clothes and shoes, asking her to help me narrow down what to pack. I know the outfits are suitable for the places _I_ want to visit, but I’m not sure if it’s right for whatever Kylo has in mind.

The morning before we leave, I broach the subject with him over breakfast. I’ve just made omelets, a light breakfast salad, and cappuccinos. We’re sitting at the counter, he’s in the stool next to mine, early morning light is glittering across his beautiful face.

“Everything is squared away- travel, lodging, reservations. Um,” I stall, unsure of how to phrase my question. “I’m not sure what to pack? As far as my clothing? Do I need to bring something nice for dinner out, or..?”

I don’t want to make any assumptions, god forbid I use the word  _date._ I’m sure that would scare him right off. We’ve shared meals together, sure. But we’ve never  _gone out_ together. We work, we have sex. That’s it.

He takes in my words, and then I watch his eyes scan today’s outfit consisting of a Flaming Lips shirt, high waisted dark denim, and my signature combat boots.

“Mm, this won’t do,” he tuts. “Not for the places we’ll be going.”

I have no fucking clue what _that_ means, and I start panicking while going through my wardrobe in my mind. But before I get too anxious, he continues.

“You’ll need more suitable things. Call Vicrul, tell him to be here in twenty. Best not to waste the day.”

We finish breakfast, and I give the kitchen a quick clean before grabbing my coat and purse. I go down to chat and smoke with Jimmy while waiting for my ride. I’m assuming this will be like when I was told to get a nice dress for the party, and god I wish Rose was here to help.

When Vic arrives, I hop in the backseat but he doesn’t close the door behind me.

“What’s up?” I ask him, as he stands next to my open door.

But my question is swiftly answered as I see Kylo walking through he lobby and out the front door, nodding his head and saying hello to “James”. I scooch over, and he joins me in the backseat.

“You’re going shopping with me?” I question, confused.

“Of course,” is his simple reply. As if I should have known that Kylo would want to pick out my clothing. And the more I think about it, I  _should_ have known. He’s a control freak. And whenever he shows me off, like the holiday party, he wants to control the image.

It’s an awkward car ride, not the usual lighthearted transit that Vic and I share on most days. And I’m sure there’s still a tinge of jealousy between the two men, despite my position being clearly drawn in the sand.

We listen to jazz in silence. I people-watch out the window, Kylo types emails on his phone, Vic keeps his eyes on the road.

It’s not a far drive, thank god, as we travel south on Park. We turn a side street and then onto Madison Avenue, and I recognize the Prada store immediately. But this time when I walk inside, I’m on Kylo’s heels and the atmosphere is completely different.

Instead of judgmental looks and snooty attitudes, the staff is immediately at attention. A woman behind the counter locks the store, lets Kylo know that we won’t be disturbed as we shop.

I’m awkwardly standing near him, unsure of what to do as another woman hands me a glass of champagne. She has a kind smile, but I would too if I worked here and a celebrity walked in.

“Mr. Ren called ahead with your sizing, we pulled a few things for you to try on. Follow me,” she instructs kindly. I don’t miss her flirtatious smile directed at Kylo. But he’s not paying attention, he’s wandering the store and perusing the racks of clothing.

I strip in the dressing area while the blonde hands me different pieces to try on. They all fit impeccably, Kylo has gotten my sizing just right. I blush when I silently wonder if tying up my chest and hips helped him figure out the measurements.

After each outfit, I step out from behind the curtain to show Kylo, knowing his word is final. He hates me in slacks and structured blouses, prefers more feminine pieces on my form. The staff scurries around as he makes demands.

“No, no whites. No pink. She’s better in blacks, reds, grays. Pull more vintage pieces, none of this ready to wear shit,” he demands. I shouldn’t enjoy watching him boss other people around, but honestly it’s pretty fucking hot.

Today I’m his doll, and we’re playing _the_ _most expensive_ game of dress up.

He selects different dresses, shoes, accessories. I turn so he can see them from every angle. Standing behind me in the mirror, his hands adjust the different pieces, making tweaks here and there. Each touch is electric, my skin reacts to every bit of contact.

He doesn’t drink, but snaps his fingers at the staff to refill my glass when it’s empty. They don’t seem to care, they’re just pleased he’s racking up quite a bill.

After a few hours, we have multiple outfits selected. Dresses, jackets, scarves, accessories, a few purses and shoes. More than enough for our trip.

Kylo doesn’t bother to check out at the counter, they must keep his card on file. He tells them to package things up and have them sent to his apartment. I’m not surprised when he mentions that he’s gotten a few things for himself as well.

The devil wears Prada, obviously.

After watching Kylo drop thousands of dollars like it was nothing at all, I need a cigarette. Badly. He joins me outside and we pass one between us.

“You like that, don’t you. Dressing me up?” I ask between puffs.

His dark eyes glitter with something more sinister than mischief.

“Absolutely,” he drawls while exhaling smoke. “We have one more stop to make.”

When Vic pulls around the block, we settle in the backseat again. I’m still riding a bit of a high, and my heart leaps to my throat when Kylo informs him we’ll be going to La Perla next.

It’s an even faster drive, straight down Madison. And I wish I wouldn’t have noticed the look on Vic when he dropped us off at the high-end lingerie store. I know my own face is bright red, but I tell myself to get it together.

The woman in the store kisses Kylo on both cheeks, and I try to extinguish the flames of jealousy that erupt in my chest as I wonder how many women he’s brought here.

“She’s exquisite,” says the clerk, while looking me up and down.

“Yes, she really is,” he says to her. I don’t even care that they’re talking about me directly in front of me. Hearing his words of praise will always send shockwaves of lust through my core.

She scampers off while calling over her shoulder, “I have a few things that will be perfect.”

Terror sets in as I silently pray that I won’t have to try on different sets of lingerie in front of her. But she brings over multiple white shopping bags, filled withundergarments already delicately wrapped. Thank god. I’m not sure I’m confident enough to model whatever is in these bags.

She sets them on the counter, and then looks at me with a smile. “Pick out a few things you’d like as well,” she winks to me.

I turn to Kylo for permission, a subconscious move. He nods his approval with a wicked grin. “Anything?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Anything in black,” he demands.

My fingers touch the delicate lace pieces, doing my best to avoid any price tags. It’s easier if I don’t see the numbers, knowing many of these are valued at three and four figures.

Bras, panties, garters, corsets, teddies, slips. They’re all  _divine._ And I’m a kid in a candy store. Kylo sits and reads on his phone, doesn’t give the same attention to detail as he did in Prada. But I remember the bags of preselected items, and know he somehow had a hand in choosing whatever they are.

As I’m picking things, I keep him in mind. What would this fiendish man like best? Naked, that’s what he’d prefer, I chuckle to myself. 

Eventually the woman wraps the items I’ve selected, and gives me yet another wink as we leave the store. 

I’m carrying multiple La Perla bags, with Kylo Ren holding the door open for me like a gentleman, boxes of Prada waiting for me at the penthouse.

I must be living in a daydream. 


	23. Chapter 23

It doesn’t take long for Kylo to snap me back to reality.

After a morning of being showered with affection and attention, my mind forgets the way the game  _truly_ works. I’m blissfully unaware of how quickly things can change when he tells me to put on one of the new lingerie sets.

I choose a black bra with mesh cups, lace thong and garter belt set. I’m still riding the high of our shopping trip, my body prickling with anticipation for his touch and more affection.

When I meet him in his painting studio, as instructed, he’s setting up a blank canvas on his easel. I saunter into the room, confident that he’ll enjoy the outfit I’ve picked. 

“Tell me your safe words,” he commands, while his attention is focused on choosing different paints for his palette.

“Yellow and red, Sir,” I dutifully reply.

I await his instruction near the doorway. He gets his work station ready, for what I’m not sure. When he finally turns to face me, I expect to see lust filled eyes and a hungry mouth.

_I’m wrong._

His gaze moves up and down my body wrapped in the expensive lace he’s purchased. I thought he would like what I was wearing, but his face almost looks... annoyed? 

“Such a  _little whore._ Look at you. Spending my fucking money to look like  _that,_ ” he spits. 

At first I shrink, remembering how he used to make me feel like mere dust on the ground. But the more he insults me, the more I’m ashamed to feel the pulse of desire between my legs.

“I-“

“ _Shut up,_ mouse. What a waste of _my_ hard earned money, spent on a  _slut_ like you. You think you deserve presents? What have you done to _earn_ them?”

I remind myself that he wouldn’t have asked for my safe words if this wasn’t a game. But I don’t want to utter them, I want him to keep breaking me down. I hate myself for how much I’m enjoying this. Every verbal blow sends an electric current straight to my cunt.

“I’ll do anything, Sir,” and I mean that.

He grabs me by the wrist, yanks me in front of his canvas. I’m standing before him, clad only in the expensive lingerie. Waiting.

When he lifts his strong hands to my breasts, at first he’s soft. Caressing my nipples through the mesh. But just as quickly as it started, it’s over in a flash. Without warning he tears the fabric to shreds.

“I liked this one!” I groan, without thinking.

The punishment is swift. His open hand meets my cheek with a crack. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to remind me of my place. My pussy clenches with desire.

I should be appalled by this treatment, but it’s the opposite. I almost complain  _again_ to receive  _another_ blow. But instead I stand tall before him, breasts exposed through tattered fabric, wetness pooling between my thighs.

“Anything? We’ll see about that. Get on all fours,” he commands.

I swiftly do as he says, dropping to the wood floor, and he directs me to position myself so that he has a side view of my body. When he leaves the room, I don’t dare move. Minutes go by, but I keep my body posed exactly as he left it.

When he returns I tilt my head ever so slightly to see him towering above me. 

“Let’s see how long you last, hmm?”

I’m still on my hands and knees,  wearing lace undergarments and a shredded bra. Exposed, vulnerable. When I feel him place the candles along my spine, his game becomes crystal clear. As he lights the wicks, I know exactly where this is headed. 

Kylo moves back to the other side of his easel and I can feel his eyes taking in every detail before him. He’s turned me into a piece of  _furniture,_ displaying the candles that will soon drip onto my skin.

I don’t dare turn my head to look at him, for fear of the candles falling or extinguishing. I’m determined to show him my strength. I’m unyielding when it comes to pleasing him. If Kylo wants me to be an _object,_ fine, I’m  _his object._ I meant what I said. I’ll do  anything.

Rewards wait for me at the end of this challenge, I won’t fail. 

I hear his paintbrush start to move across the blank canvas. The swift brushstrokes are the only sound in the large room and they seem to echo among the high ceilings. He doesn’t speak, just paints. 

As more time goes on, my palms and knees begin to feel the sharp pang of pain from the hardwood floors. 

I do not move. 

Kylo continues to paint. 

The anticipation flows through my veins like a drug. I know that as time goes on the wax is melting. And my skin is the only thing between it and the floor. The expectation of pain is tantalizing.

And when the first drops of liquid wax finally fall to my skin and roll down my vertebrae, pooling in my lower back, I can’t help but gasp. Not in pain, but in relief. The waiting was the hardest part.

I hear Kylo pause, and I know he’s intensely watching me. Waiting to see what I do next.

I stay completely still.

He continues painting. 

Now that my body knows what to expect, I welcome it. The hot wax stings in a _delicious_ way. I feel it running and cooling on different parts of my back. Soon it’s rolling off my waist, dripping to the floor in messy patterns.

My arms and thighs are beginning to tire, surely I’ve been in this position for almost an hour. They tremble slightly, and my muscles are screaming to  move. But I don’t. I continue to will myself into submission.

Wax melts off of my body and I no longer register the heat as pain. Kylo has found a way to abuse my body without even touching me, and I know my underwear is drenched.

I can tell he’s waiting for me to break. Waiting for yellow or red to fall from my lips. They don’t. I’m not like the  _others,_ I won’t break so easily. I’ll give him my all.

At last, I hear him put down his paintbrush and walk towards me. I’m on my last bit of strength and I know I’m visibly trembling from the effort, doing my best to keep the candles from falling.

“Such a good girl,” he praises while softly blowing them out.

He hasn’t commanded me to move, so I stay exactly as I am while he gently removes the candles and peels the dried wax from my skin. 

I can tell I’m red and raw, but it stings in such an intoxicating way.

When he reaches down, scoops me up, and cradles me in his strong arms, I could cry. A wave of appreciation crashes over me, and I do my best to convey it with my eyes as I look up to his face.

The dark devilish look is gone, replaced with pure pride. I did well, his face says it all.

As he carries me out of the room, I glance over his shoulder to see the finished painting. It’s abstract and jumbled, and if I didn’t know what I was looking at I might be confused. But I can see clearly- _me, surrounded by flames, beautifully melting._

Kylo walks us down the hall, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. Into his room, past his bed, and into his bathroom. He brings me straight into his giant shower, which is basically an entire room to itself.

He sets me down on a ledge, and cautiously peels the lingerie from my skin. Taking care to move gently around the raw parts. When I’m naked, he walks out of the shower and begins taking off his own clothes as well.

Soon we’re both naked, and our clothes are piled on the floor outside the shower room. He pushes a button on the wall near the glass door, and suddenly water starts raining down from the ceiling. Not a shower head, but the entire ceiling.

The cool droplets hit my skin, and I’m so thankful that the water isn’t hot.

“That feels nice,” I murmur with eyes closed, body finally relaxing under the rainfall.

“You did exceptionally well,” he praises. “So strong. My good girl.”

I smile as he begins massaging my arms, rubbing soap along my limbs, cleansing my body. He lathers my hair, runs his fingers through my locks as the shampoo and conditioner wash away.

I’m still sitting on the ledge, thankful that I don’t have to use my muscles in this moment. When he reaches around to wash the last bits of wax from my back, his touch is so soft, so gentle. He handles my body as if it were glass. The reverse of how he treated it earlier. 

When he massages my legs, works the soreness from my thighs, I can’t help but tip my head back and sigh. And when he parts my legs and kneels in front of me, I almost moan at the sight.

The water is still raining down on our naked bodies and he trails wet kisses up the inside of my thigh. When he reaches my cunt, his lips discover a different kind of dampness.

The tender shower was reward enough for me, and  _this_ is beyond expectation. His mouth finds my clit easily, slowly flicking and sucking. His hands grab my waist and pull me to the edge of the ledge so he has better access, and he sets my legs upon his brawny shoulders.

Unlike the night in his bed, where I was forced to keep my attention on a book, this time I can watch as he works. His face is concentrated, and he responds to every moan or buck of my hips.

And  _fuck_ is he good at this.

His pace quickens, and so does my breath. My moans reverberate off the shower walls. The water falling from the ceiling is cool, but I feel the temperature of the room rising regardless. He grips my thighs with his large hands, pinning me in place, as my body begins to quiver.

Tongue flicking faster and faster, he’s masterfully bringing me to my peak. I can’t help but to run my hands through his hair and hold on for dear life.

“Oh  _fuck,_ Kylo,” I moan to the heavens. He growls at the sound of his name, and the vibration throws me even closer to orgasm. Swirling and sucking at the same time, his mouth demands I cum for him.

And I do. Throwing my head back, letting the cold water fall onto my hot face, my legs grip his shoulders and my hands tug his hair.

But he doesn’t stop, he keeps going, pushing my body further. The orgasm violently rolls over me, and yet still he doesn’t stop. Tears fall down my cheeks, mixing with the shower water, and I scream as he makes me cum a second time.

Finally satisfied, he kisses my clit once more before slowly removing my legs from his shoulders. He continues washing my body, and then his own. I groggily watch the soap drip from his chiseled muscles. When we’re both clean, he turns off the shower and then wraps us both in towels.

Scooping me up again, he carries me to the other side of the apartment and gingerly places me in my bed.

“Rest for now, but then there’s work to do,” he says while gesturing towards the Prada boxes and my luggage.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper as he leaves. 


	24. Chapter 24

We arrive at the airport in the dead of night and check in at the counter: straight from JFK to Paris, a quick layover, and then on to Copenhagen. Kylo always flies to Europe in style, so we’ll be taking advantage of Air France’s  _La Première_ amenities.

I struggle to keep up as his long legs stride through security and into an exclusive bar near our gate.

He orders himself a whiskey, and a whiskey ginger for me. I smile to myself, with the realization that he’s paid attention to my cocktail of choice at home. We discuss his upcoming art show while sipping our liquor.

When it’s time to board, we enter the jet first. And I’m absolutely blown away. I’ve only ever flown basic economy, on airplanes  _nowhere_ near this nice.

Our seats are next to each other, they’re large and plush, and I swiftly realize that they lay completely flat into beds. Whenever I’ve flown internationally before, I’ve had to sleep uncomfortably upright with a pillow jammed between me and the window. 

There are floor to ceiling curtains that separate the two of us from the aisles and other seats. We have a small desk area and lamps, they’ve given us kits of toiletries and a set of pajamas. And a very kind flight attendant brings us glasses of champagne as we’re settling in for the overnight flight.

Fucking  _luxury._ Kylo lives his life in a whole different dimension.

I feel completely out of place, as usual. I’m dressed in black leggings and a Rob Zombie shirt under one of my new Prada coats, dressed for comfort during our 7 hour flight. My carryon bag has a more suitable outfit for when we land, Kylo instructed me to change before we touch down.

We’ll get to France around lunch, with the time change factored in, and Denmark by mid afternoon. As the plane taxis the runway, I check the spreadsheet and note that Kylo has meetings as soon as we land. No time to waste. 

Sipping my bubbly and reading a book, I settle into my cushy seat. Kylo passes me his champagne flute, uninterested in the drink, and takes out a sketch pad to pass the time.

As we take off into the night sky, I look across Kylo to the window and watch the New York City skyline morph from buildings to glittering dots of light.

I absolutely love flying. Even when I flew in cramped seats, next to screaming babies and annoying co-passengers, I always loved taking part in the  _miracle_ of human flight. I’ll never understand how people can complain about leg room or bags of pretzels when we are  _literally flying through the sky._

And now that I’m traveling Kylo-style, I’m even giddier. 

In time, we’re soaring across the Atlantic. Nothing but stars outside our window, the ocean merely a black mass below us, and if I pretend hard enough it’s almost as if we’re drifting peacefully through space. 

Our curtains are drawn for complete privacy, and the cabin is mostly silent except for the occasional footsteps of a flight attendant or soft snore of a fellow passenger. 

Knowing I need to sleep so I can avoid jet lag, I eventually drift off, Sylvia Plath’s “The Colossus” still in my hands. 

A few hours later I’m awoken, and not by the rising sun outside my window that’s painting beautiful pinks and oranges across the ocean. But by two large roaming hands. 

“Kylo, what do you think you’re doing?” I whisper to the depraved man next to me, while rolling over to face him.

“I can’t sleep,” he murmurs in reply. “Be a good girl and help.”

It’s eerily silent in the cabin, and I assume that all other passengers must surely be asleep. We still have a few hours until we land, so I know the staff won’t be coming around any time soon either.

Two airport cocktails and two glasses of champagne are still running through my veins, my inhibitions are lowered and I’m sure he knows it.

And he just  _had_ to say the magic words, “good girl”, didn’t he. Fuck it. Mile High Club, here I come.

As quietly as possible, I shift myself into his seat as he lowers it completely flat. It’s large as far as airplane seating goes, but still meant for one person and not two. While I’m pulling off my leggings, he frees his already stiff cock from his pants.

I will  _never_ grow tired of the sight.

To show my appreciation, I decide to give him oral attention first. Straddling his lower legs, my mouth silently gets to work moving up and down his shaft. He doesn’t moan, but his hips buck while his hands find my hair, and I know he’s enjoying the sensations.

Swirling the head with my tongue while I use a hand to pump lazily, my eyes look up to see him staring down at me intensely. His dark eyes are latched onto my mouth.

His hands start shoving me down onto his length more, needing me to take him deeper. I do my best not to slurp or gag loudly, but I know Kylo is getting off on the idea that we might get caught.

And honestly, so am I.

Before I take him too far, I pull myself away and then crawl up the length of his body until I’m sitting on his lap. His large hands grab my hips and start rubbing me against his rock hard erection.

His face tips back and his eyes close, I’m sure he’s concentrating on not making a sound. Because the feeling of my wet lace panties against his manhood is delectable for me, so I can’t even imagine how good it feels for him.

I lean down so my face is in the crook of his neck and whisper a soft plea.

“Please, Sir, fuck me.”

“That’s my good girl.”

I can feel him shifting my underwear out of the way, he wastes no time pressing into my opening and lowers me down his entire length. I’m dripping wet but he’s still a tight fit.

At first I ride him, shifting my hips to move him in and out. But Kylo obviously needs to control and soon his arms wrap around my waist and press me tightly to his chest. He starts fucking up into me with a passion.

It takes all of my control to not scream or even moan. I bury my head in his neck, pant into his raven hair. He smells of leather and embers, it’s intoxicating.

He hits spots inside of me that no man has ever reached, no woman has ever discovered. As I cum around him, my cunt clenches and spasms, and I can tell he’s close behind.

Just before he climaxes, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back so he has access to my mouth. His tongue demands entrance and I grant it willingly. Our kiss is sloppy and wild, tongues dancing messily. He slams his cock up into me over and over, and if anyone is awake they’ll _definitely_ know what’s happening behind our curtain.

Kylo sucks my bottom lip and nips it between his teeth, and as he finishes inside of me he bites down  _hard._

We lay there for a while, me on top of him, his cum dripping between my thighs. The sun rises across the Atlantic and we pass through the clouds. My body feels lighter than air.

I eventually slide off his his body, he watches as I tuck him back into his pants, dutifully zipper and button them. I wipe myself clean with a tissue, put my leggings back on and settle into my own seat. 

Kylo drifts to sleep swiftly, I smile while thinking “job well done” to myself. I decide to read more of my book before another nap, and open it to my dog eared page. 

I find a small piece of folded paper. 

A small black ink sketch of my sleeping face. I look ethereal. Celestial. My hair is flowing around me like a crown, I’m surrounded by a background of stars and waves. 

My breath catches in my throat, and I’m not sure what to feel. But I do know that I’ll cherish this scrap of paper.

I tuck it into my book and place it safely in my bag. All interest in reading has passed, so I lay down in my seat and cover myself with my blanket, and watch Kylo’s chest rise and fall until I drift to sleep as well. 

I’m awoken by his hands again, but this time they’re shaking my shoulder.

“We land in thirty minutes. Make yourself presentable,” he commands. His harsh tone is back, and I almost think that our mid flight rendezvous was a dream until I feel a slight stickiness between my legs.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, passing other first class passengers and praying they didn’t hear us earlier.

Wiping myself down and brushing my hair and teeth, I feel like a respectable human again. After doing my makeup I tiptoe back to our seats and draw the curtains to change.

Kylo’s eyes never leave my body as I strip and pull on a new thong and bra, black pantyhose, and a red dress he spent hundreds of dollars on. I study his face while putting on a necklace and heels, he seems pleased.

When we exit the plane in Paris and eat lunch at an airport cafe, I actually look like I belong in the seat next to him. He’s dressed me up to fit his image, and I don’t mind.

We catch a quick plane to Copenhagen, and meet our driver at baggage claim. 

A gorgeous muscular man with dark chocolate skin and twisted braids of hair holds a sign with “Mr. Ren” neatly printed in large letters.

I introduce myself as Kylo retrieves our luggage.

“Ap’lek, pleased to meet you miss,” he says with a perfect smile.

I blush under his gaze, until Kylo returns and it’s intensely businesslike. Ap’lek takes our bags and leads us to the town car waiting out front. 


	25. Chapter 25

“Straight to the gallery,” instructs Kylo.

It’s not a far drive from the airport, but I almost wish it were longer because the views are amazing. It’s absolutely _magical_ here.

It’s only around 4 P.M. but the sun is already setting, and it’s painting the gorgeous architecture with hues of pinks and oranges. Every street looks like a winter wonderland postcard - a dusting of snow, Christmas markets, decorated trees, wreaths on every door, candles in the windows.

The art show isn’t for another two days, and we leave in three, so I’m very excited to explore the city. I’ve packed plenty of warm layers and walking shoes to take myself on adventures. Kylo will be busy with meetings, I was told to keep myself entertained during the day.

But first things first, Kylo wants to drop his photographs at the gallery so they can be framed and hung. He’ll come back tomorrow to check that everything is to his liking, I’ve emailed back and forth with the owner about the specifics.

When we arrive, I’m surprised to see that it’s a classic eighteenth century style building. But as we walk inside, my senses are on overload. The contents of the building could not be more different from the facade.

There are bold photographs and paintings lining the walls, modern and risqué, harsh and colorful lighting coming from the ceilings. Definitely the Kylo aesthetic, I can see why he’s close with the owner.

He strides into the gallery and greets Cardo warmly, well, as warm as I’ve ever seen him. They shake hands and even share a brief hug, clapping each other on the back and sharing “It’s been too long” and “So glad to see you again”.

“And you must be the one I’ve had the pleasure of corresponding with,” says Cardo. He’s got beautiful honey colored hair and bright blue eyes. They trail my body, starting at my heels and working up to my face slowly. I offer a handshake, he kisses it instead.

“I like this one,” he smiles at me while throwing the comment towards Kylo.

“Mm yes, I’m quite fond too,” he replies.

Both of their eyes are on me, intensely, and this isn’t the first time Kylo has spoken with someone as if I’m just an object in the room to be admired. I should be shocked by such treatment, but his words of praise will always cause me to melt. No matter the context.

Eventually they turn their attention to the portfolio, and I excuse myself to take a lap around the room. I’m curious about the other art and the space where Kylo will be showing his work.

As the men chat about the upcoming show specifics, I slowly stroll through the gallery. Admiring the odd and sultry pieces, arranged on the walls in thought provoking ways. Many different artists with different styles, but Cardo’s taste is obvious. Dark, sexual, menacing at times.

After a while I find myself getting lost in a particular print with a woman’s naked form in the center. There are multiple hands reaching from outside the frame, grabbing different parts of her body. Her face is slightly blurred and I can’t tell if she’s experiencing pleasure or pain.

I’m staring at every detail, trying to understand how she must have been feeling, when I sense them standing behind me.

“This is one of my favorites. What do you see?” inquires Cardo.

“These men, they’re using her body,” I reply. Turning to face them, I see that they both have predatory eyes. Their friendship makes sense to me - they’re both sharks. I stare at Kylo as I continue, “But I think she likes it.”

“I think she does too,” he answers darkly. Knowingly.

“An interesting interpretation,” muses Cardo, pleased with my answer. “One of the better ones I’ve heard. And what do you think of the gallery?”

“Your collection is beautiful. Dark, but beautiful.”

The two men share a look, and I’m confused until Kylo speaks to me.

“We’re changing the exhibit, I won’t be showing the Balance series. I sent some shots to Cardo and we agreed that it’s not quite right for  this gallery. He asked if I could bring something different.”

“Something  _dark, but beautiful,_ like you say,” chimes in Cardo.

“Okay.... so what did you bring?” I ask, unsure of where this is leading or why they’re looking at me so intensely. 

Kylo motions me over to the desk where they were conversing earlier, and there are dozens of photos spread across the surface. 

Photos of me. 

I don’t see my face in any frame, but I know that it’s me. My body. The pictures are laid out in chronological order, telling the story of  _that_ afternoon in three parts. 

There I am, innocently writing in the library. The camera is focused on the curve of my back, the slope of my shoulders. More photos of my clothed backside, my legs. A predator’s view of prey.

The next set is the progression of bondage. My chest, wrists, hips, ankles. The camera is focused on the intricate knots, the tight rope against my skin, the complete control as I’m moved into different positions.

And finally, the after effects of the rope. It’s just my bare skin now, but there are varying degrees of red patterns snaking around my body. You can see exactly where the rope once was, how it still affects my body even when it’s gone.

Laid out on this table is a visual representation of Kylo: _he claims an innocent victim, controls their mind and body, leaves them marked afterwards._

It’s intriguing to see this day through his eyes, his lens. I spent that afternoon in a euphoric high, relinquishing all control, letting him use me however he wanted. Now I’m seeing it from his perspective, and it’s somehow even more alluring.

A hunter and his kill.

“You... you want to show these?” I ask, cheeks burning red as I watch Cardo poring over the photos.

“Yes,” Kylo replies simply. “If you consent, of course.”

My eyes are wide as I imagine strangers looking at these images, even if my face isn’t shown. They’d be seeing me in naked vulnerable positions, used as someone’s sex object. They would be critiquing details and forming opinions and it’s all too much for my brain to handle.

I’m sure there is panic written all over my face, but Cardo smiles at me when he looks up from the table.

“These are extraordinary. So raw, so unfiltered. It would be a shame not to...  _share you,_ ” his eyes twinkle and he smirks before finishing, “with the public, I mean.”

I’m still extremely hesitant, but the look on Kylo’s face makes my knees weak. Reliving that day, showing my naked body to Cardo, watching me squirm, is obviously doing something for him. He looks hungry. Like he wants to ravish me right here on top of this tabletop full of prints.

“Fine. You’re lucky I don’t know anyone in Denmark.” The thrill is too seductive to deny.

“That’s my good girl,” Kylo praises. From the corner of my eye I see Cardo slyly smile. Whatever game they’re playing with me, they’re winning.

“People are going to buy these? Take them home?” I ask, suddenly realizing the full scope of the situation.

“Absolutely. I might just have to purchase one for myself before the best are gone,” croons Cardo. “I’ll have these framed and displayed. Kylo, come by tomorrow to give the final green light. And I do hope I see you again soon, miss. What a pleasure to see you in person finally.”

He saunters off with the photos,  _the most intimate_ pictures ever taken of me.

My high heels quickly clack against the marble floors as I rush outside and brave the cold, desperate for a cigarette to calm my nerves. Kylo isn’t far behind.

“How dare you set me up like that! How dare you show me off like that! That was  _humiliating_ ,” I huff through puffs of smoke.

“Was it now,” says Kylo, no hint of remorse in his voice, as he trails a finger down my burning face.

“Yes. I’m not some... some...  _sex doll_ to show off and share with your buddies.” I angrily start pacing back and forth, shivering from the adrenaline swiftly running through my system. 

But before I can work myself up too much, he stands directly in front of me, blocking my path, and stoops down to my face to whisper, “You could be.”

The thought stops my heart for a moment, I feel it sputter in my chest. I wish I hated the way Cardo looked at my naked body, I wish I didn’t appreciate the way he scanned my figure so intently, I wish I disliked the way Kylo put me on display.

But before I can voice any of these thoughts, he continues.

“He’s right, it would be a shame for those photos to live in a folder forever. It’s a good series, it’s fresh, and it deserves to be seen.” He pulls me into a tight embrace against his body, and despite our layers of clothing I can feel the distinct sensation of his erection pressing against me.

“Plus, I like watching. Seeing your reactions. Seeing their faces, knowing how they wish they could have you in these ways. And you like it too, don’t you?” He’s purring in my ear, intoxicating me with his tone. “You like being a _dirty slut,_ don’t you?”

There’s only one correct answer: “Yes, Sir.”

When we finally check in to our hotel, it’s grand. A two bedroom suite, with a central kitchen and living room. Beautifully decorated with traditional Danish furniture and artwork, classic high end touches.

After dinner when he fucks me in my bed, large hand around my throat cutting off most oxygen, he makes me tell him how much I liked Cardo seeing those photos. Makes me confess that like being shown off. Makes me beg for his cum. He calls me  _dirty slut_ over and over again.

And he’s right. I’m his little whore, his toy to play with.

He gets off on the games.

Apparently so do I. 


	26. Chapter 26

I’m not the least bit surprised to wake up alone. Kylo never stays the night, and I’ve never been bold enough to try in his bed.

It’s still early, before sunrise, so I take a quick shower and then make a pot of coffee while lounging in a bathrobe. I’m on the couch in the stylish living room, confirming Kylo’s meetings and reservations for today, when I hear him rise.

“Godmorgen,” I call to him as he pours himself a brew. “I called down for room service, it should be here soon. Æggekage, øllebrød, and fruit.” He doesn’t seem to care about the omelette or rye porridge so I continue.

“Your first meeting is at 9, Ap’lek will be here at 8:35, your reservations for lunch and dinner have already been confirmed, and you’ll need to stop by Cardo’s gallery at some point to confirm the setup for tomorrow’s show.”

It feels good to be on top of things. I know I was only invited along to make Kylo’s life easier by taking care of planning and details. And I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that we’re fucking. But at least I know I’m pulling my weight professionally, and I feel confident in my position.

“Good. I’ll have Ap’lek all day, I trust that you can entertain yourself? Keep yourself busy but do try your best not to get lost.” His tone isn’t necessarily protective, but it’s a tiny glimmer of compassion. I’ll take it.

I dress for the weather as he showers and readies himself for a day full of meetings and business deals. My plan is to walk as much of the city as possible, so I throw on layer after layer of warm clothing. Under my chic Prada coat and sweater are cozy tights, jeans, undershirts, and wool socks.

I’m grabbing a scarf, hat, and gloves when Kylo exits his bathroom and strolls through the living room in just a towel wrapped around his waist. The sight of his bare torso will always cause my breath to falter.

As I’m obviously ogling his body, trailing up and down the curves of his muscles, I eventually glance up to his face to see his bemused expression. “Enjoy the sights,” he chuckles as I blush and make my way out the door with a wave.

Feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, I do my best to shake it off while riding the elevator down to floor level.  _He’s fucked me senseless, why am I blushing. Get it together._

After a quick chat with the concierge, whose English was  _much_ better than the simple Danish phrases I tried to learn this morning, I have a map and a plan. 

First up is a walk along the Nyhavn canal with its brightly colored townhouses, fully decked out in Christmas cheer. Wreaths, pine boughs, decorated trees sprinkled about.

I snap numerous pictures, send some selfies to Rose and Finn, and even stop by a house where Hans Christian Andersen lived for a time. Walking these streets feels like walking through one of his fairytales. 

An art museum catches my eye, I browse pieces that are  much tamer than Kylo’s. And honestly now that I’ve seen so much of his work, I feel spoiled by his talent. Beautiful sceneries and soft portraits are lovely and surely belong on the walls of great museums... but art after Kylo is bland, and I want more of the debauchery I’ve been exposed to lately. 

The palace and royal museum are intriguing, and as I stare at the jewels and Fabergé collection, I feel a small sense of understanding. Lately I’ve felt my own sort of luxury. But I don’t need a crown to feel worshipped. I feel powerful, like an absolute  _queen_ _,_ when he uses and abuses me. 

I stroll along the streets, warmly welcomed by locals. While talking with a Danish woman in one of the many Christmas markets, she explains I’m feeling  _hygge_. It’s an emphasis they put on coziness, togetherness, happiness. And it practically sparkles through the air of the charming city. 

Lunch is spent in a food market eating a smørrebrød sandwich and sipping hot gløgg, a delicious mulled wine with raisins and almonds. I’m quick to make small talk with other tourists, they point me towards a train stop and I make a short trip north to visit the castle from Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”.

Every panorama is worthy of a postcard.

As the sun sets, I travel back downtown and make my last stop at the Trivoli Gardens. There are hundreds and thousands of glittering lights strung everywhere the eye can see. Twinkling bulbs illuminate the gardens, families laugh and scream while on rollercoasters and rides, vendors waft enticing smells through the air.

I do my best to try as many local foods as possible, and grill each waiter or cook for tips and tricks to bring home with me. They recommend the national dish of fried pork with potatoes and parsley sauce. I nibble sausages, herring, chicken tartlets, pork roast, rice pudding, cakes, and pastries. Everything is rich, hearty, _delectable._

I’ve traveled to many places in the world, and this one is swiftly becoming a favorite. I write notes in my journal throughout the day- recipes or ingredient ideas, favorite places to sight see, memories I want to keep after this whirlwind trip is over.

It’s been a long day full of touring, eating, meeting locals. My tired feet find their way back to the hotel, and the clock is striking ten o’clock when I walk in the door of our suite.

Everything is pitch black. Hmm, still no Kylo.

I flip on some lights and prepare for a nice soak in the bathtub. It takes forever to get undressed, so many fucking layers, and I’ve had plenty of gløgg and beer throughout my day of adventures. Eventually I’m naked, and I start the bath water.

As the tub is filling up, I wrap myself in a robe and reach to turn on the lights of my bedroom. When the room is illuminated, I notice a small box wrapped in red ribbon sitting on the center of my bed.

A present?

I flip over a piece of paper next to the box, to see a note written in his handwriting.

_Mouse: If you’re not wearing them when I return, there will be consequences. -K._

A present with a time constraint.

I throw myself into the bath, washing faster than I had wanted when I thought I’d be lounging in the tub all night. Once clean, I pat myself dry and wrap my hair in a towel.

Turning my attention back to the small box, I gently unwrap the bow keeping it closed. When I remove the lid I assume I’ll find sexy lingerie or jewelry, maybe a necklace or earrings.

_I’m wrong._

Those are gifts a normal man would leave. And Kylo is not an ordinary man.

The contents of the box glint in the light of my room, the silver is shiny, polished, expensive. But this isn’t jewelry. At least not by my definition of the word.

The handcuffs clink together as I slide them out of the box and the cool metal meets my hands. These aren’t your ordinary sex-shop fuzzy cuffs with a quick release. These are heavy, real deal, handcuffs with a lock.

My eyes widen as I feel the weight of them in my hands, feel the power they’ll soon hold over me. I notice the corresponding key isn’t in the box, but I don’t have to think too hard about where it is. With a jolt, I realize I have no idea when he’ll be back.

Running to my luggage and picking out a lingerie set, I quickly brush my hair and throw on the lace, praying I’m ready before he gets back. A black bra with low cups that make my breasts look like they might spill out at any moment. A pair of black panties, riding high on my ass cheeks to accentuate the curves. He’ll be pleased.

I situate myself in the middle of my bed, and the only step remaining is to handcuff myself.

I’m no stranger to constraints in the bedroom, I’ve had lovers that owned some sort of cuffs. But nothing like these. These feel unyielding, unrelenting, slightly scary. And I love it. 

My left wrist slips between the first open cuff, the metal is cold and harsh against my freshly bathed warm skin. I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath as I enclose my wrist and click click click the cuff into place. Snug, I can’t slide my hand out, but there is a little wiggle room left.

I take a second to steady my breathing, relax my body that is in adrenaline-mode. When I’ve calmed myself, I awkwardly cuff my right wrist as well.

Click click click, and both wrists are shackled.

At first, I kneel in the center of my bed. Sitting on my knees and ankles, I wait patiently with my bound hands sitting in my lap. The clock above my dresser says 10:52. Still no Kylo.

An hour goes by.

I’ve gotten up once or twice to check my phone on the nightstand, looking to see if he’s texted or given any hint to his return. No such luck. I’m not very graceful, bumbling around with my hands limited, so mostly I just sit and wait.

I know this is a game, one that I consented to as soon as I put the metal on myself. Even when he’s not here, we’re still playing a cat-and-mouse game.

Eventually I lay back on my pillow and do my best to not drift asleep. I’m daydreaming about this morning, his half naked body wrapped in a towel, his chiseled chest and strong arms, when I start losing the battle against my wine-heavy eyelids.

I can’t remember the last time I saw before I fell asleep. But I do know that when I hear the lock turning on the suite door, my body is suddenly wide awake and my eyes dart to the clock.

Kylo has finally returned, at 2:04 A.M.

And  _fuck_ does he look pleased to see me in nothing but lace and cuffs, waiting for him in bed.  
  



	27. Chapter 27

“Such a very good girl,” he praises.

He’s standing in the doorway to my room, eyes slightly glossy from a night out. As his gaze is wandering up and down my body, his hands are removing his clothing.

I watch as he watches me.

First his jacket, large buttons being undone by much larger hands. His boots and socks. His black dress shirt, hands trailing the buttons from collar to waist. Then his belt, undoing the buckle seamlessly. And now he’s unzipping his pants, tossing them to the side.

_ God._ I can tell how hard he is from here.

“How long have you been wearing them?”

I glance to the clock and then back to him. “Three hours.”

His face isn’t remorseful or penitent. He’s pleased.

It’s always a game for Kylo, and the deck is  _ always _ stacked in his favor. I know he was out drinking with friends or colleagues or god knows who, getting off on the idea that I was dutifully waiting for him in chains.

And I am ever obedient.

He walks to the bed, standing over me, staring down at me. Eyes glittering with liquor and lust. He devours me with his stare, and the intensity on his face is enough to cause my heart to beat wildly between my thighs.

Instead of joining me on the bed, he reaches out and grabs the handcuffs between my wrists and yanks me upward. The metal digs into my skin, stinging in a tantalizing way, as he roughly drags me from the bed and into the living room.

It’s only dimly lit, the entryway lamp is on but the seating area is mostly dark. He pulls me by the cuffs with one hand, throws open the curtains with another.

We’re standing in our undergarments, backlit and shadowy, in front of the giant picture window. If anyone happened to look up to our hotel suite, they’d see Kylo placing both hands around my wrists and click click clicking the metal tighter. They’d see him pushing me to my knees before him.

“Show them who you belong to,” he commands.

I’m feeling a heady mix of shame, thrill, nervousness, lust, submission,  _voyeurism_ . Knowing that at any point someone could look up and see my bound hands reaching to lower his boxer briefs and pull out his stiff cock.

He stares down at me, doesn’t glance towards the window like I do every so often. I can tell he’s loving my reaction- he’s always pushing my buttons and pushing the boundaries of where I feel comfortable.

When I use both hands to stroke up and down his length, the metal cuffs clink against one another.

My eyes stay on his when I slowly lick my tongue up the underside of his shaft. The sensation causes him to shudder and his hand finds my hair. His grip is unkind and my scalp is on fire, but in this moment it feels incredible.

His free hand grabs my jaw and my lips part reactively, he wastes no time putting his dick in my mouth and pushing the back of my head down his length until I gag slightly.

“That’s right baby, show them,” he croons while I slurp and suck. Both of his large hands are tangled in my hair, bobbing me up and down as he fucks my face.

I come up for air, gasping as spit dribbles down my chin and my hands continue to stroke. They’re twisting the base of his cock while my tongue swirls across the tip, and whenever I glance up at Kylo he’s staring down at me unblinkingly. Transfixed.

I can tell he’s close, can feel his _neediness_ in his thrusts. But instead of cumming down my throat, he pulls out and stands in front of me.

“Take off the panties,” he commands.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply while slowly standing and wiping my mouth. My shackled hands shimmy the lace fabric down my legs and I step out of them.

He pushes me back down on my knees, and I’m about to take him in my hands again when he stops me.

“No, touch yourself.”

I spread my legs further apart while propped up on my knees. My enchained hands move between my thighs, the cold metal brushing against my hot and sweaty skin.

I have to twist my wrists to get my fingers to reach my clit at the right angle, and the tight cuffs are surely leaving red marks. They pinch at the sensitive skin while my fingers swirl hypnotic circles on my delicate nerve bundle.

_Pain mixed with pleasure_ , the Kylo Special.

As I’m touching myself, I know he can hear how wet I am. The handcuffs, the open curtains, the godlike man stroking his cock above me. It’s all too much, I’m drenched.

Subconsciously my body is writhing and moving up and down. My knees are sore but it just adds another layer to the pleasure/pain game.

I can’t help but stare at what his hand is doing. Stroking up and down, twisting, rubbing his thumb along the tip. When I glance at his face, he’s staring at my hands as well. Watching them work my body closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Please, Sir,” I whisper breathlessly. His eyes snap up to mine as he strokes himself faster and faster.

“What do you want,  little slut? Tell me.”

“Please let me cum for you, Sir.”

His stare focuses on my hands again. I can almost see the silver metal glittering in his menacing eyes. He’s close again, I know his body well enough now. His jaw is tight, his breath is short, his brow is furrowed. It’s so fucking hot watching him touch himself like this.

“Then cum,” he demands through gritted teeth.

As my fingers frantically flick my clit, I can’t help but double over in ecstasy as I fall past the edge. My legs snap together, pinching the cuffs against my wrists even more.

“Sit up. Now.”

I’m still high on my orgasm, and through the haze I do as I’m told. I prop myself up on my knees again, sticky hands in my lap, as he closes the gap between our bodies.

I glance up in time to see him red in the face, hand pumping wildly along his cock, biting his lower lip. _Fuck,_ the sight is almost enough to get me off a second time.

As he finishes across my face and chest, he lets out a moan and tips his head back. Black hair sticking to his face and cascading towards his shoulders. 

His thick ropes of cum narrowly miss an eye, and land on my mouth and tits.  I lift my cuffed hands to my face, swipe the cum along my lips and then lick my fingers clean as he lazily strokes his shaft and draws out his orgasm.

_“Fuck,”_ is all he utters.

Eventually he retrieves the key, unlocks my restraints before closing the curtain again.

I’ve moved to the couch, giving my knees a moment to rest, when he comes over to investigate my red wrists. The skin hasn’t been broken, but the marks are apparent and will take a few days to heal.

As he delicately turns over my hands and assesses the damage, the look on his face seems proud. _Smug._ Pleased with branding me as his own. He litters the defacements with lush kisses and caresses. His large hands encircle my wrists and gently massage them until the soreness is gone.

After a few tender minutes on the couch together, Kylo is gone as well. He leaves to shower in his own bathroom, I’m not asked to join and still don’t feel bold enough to invite myself.

I sense a wall around him, a impenetrable barrier that he’s created. At some point he took  _Ben Solo_ and brick by brick hid him away behind  _Kylo Ren._ Built the wall so high that I’m not sure if even _he_ can see over it any more.

So I resign myself to washing alone, finally lounging in the tub like I had planned all those hours ago. By the time 4 A.M. rolls around, I’m falling asleep in my own bed, wondering what it would be like to cuddle the sinister man just a few rooms away.

I rise with the sun, sometime after 8, feeling groggy but ready to greet the morning.

It’s exhibition day, and although my heart pounds knowing that _those photos_ of me are currently hanging in Cardo’s gallery, I also feel electrified by the idea. Kylo likes me, or at least likes fucking me, enough to show me off. Being his current whatever-I-am is  intoxicating.

After doing my hair and dressing in a Dresden Dolls tee and jeans, I order down for room service and check my emails. I confirm Kylo’s brunch meeting with an art buyer and the restaurant, send Phasma some information about the projected sales of tonight’s show, double check our flight information for tomorrow’s trip to Amsterdam.

When he joins me in the kitchen, he’s already dressed and ready to go. He snaps on his Rolex and finishes the last few buttons of his shirt before turning to me.

“Tonight’s dinner reservation. Call and add another seat, you’ll be joining. There are a few colleagues I’d like you to meet before we go to the gallery.”

“Oh, um, sure.” I pull up the spreadsheet and find the information for where Kylo will be tonight before the exhibition, make a note to call and update the number of guests in the party. While also wondering why _I’m_ needed at this dinner with other artists.

“And wear the black dress. No stockings. The silver heels. Red lipstick.” He chooses the sexiest dress I brought, and I now realize that I’m going to dinner so he can show me off even more.

“Yes, Sir. Understood.” His demands are clearly received, and I know to ditch the grunge clothes before stepping out with him tonight. He wants the vamp, the arm candy, and I’ll be sure to accommodate. 


	28. Chapter 28

My morning is spent on emails and correspondence, and my afternoon is filled with more strolling through the city.

I’ve only been here a short time, but I can understand why some call this the happiest city in the world. After coming straight from New York, the differences are astounding.

The sky isn’t littered with skyscrapers, the architecture is a mix of seventeenth through twenty-first century designs. The locals all seem quite charming as they bike about the city, and there’s a comforting sense of community. The mix of classic and modern is so wonderful and I adore every turn of a corner.

I wander far from the hotel, letting myself get lost for a time. After watching the boats in the harbor from a cafe, I find myself walking along a path on the waterfront. And as my eyes are skimming the shore, I see her.

A bronze statue of a mermaid, perched upon a rock.

She’s small, unassuming, and if you aren’t looking close enough you might miss her. A quick google search on my phone tells me that she’s  _the_ Little Mermaid, in honor of Hans Christian Andersen.

As I stare at her, while the sun shines down through crisp winter air, I become entranced.

My mind can’t stop thinking of the poem I wrote not that long ago. Can’t stop thinking that  _I’m_ not the siren... I’m the sailor being dragged down into the darkness.

I didn’t notice it as it was happening, but looking back I realize that Kylo’s grip around me has slowly gotten tighter and tighter. My need for pleasing him has only gotten stronger, my desire to submit has increased exponentially.

The cold winter wind blows across my face as my mind churns. I snuggle into my scarf and coat, expensive fabrics that I “earned”. 

I reminisce on the words of warning from Rose-  _don’t get in too deep, don’t let him warp your perspective_.

But I don’t think things have gone that far yet. I feel good about where I am with Kylo right now, and the possibility of real intimacy with him is tempting. There are flashes of it during the aftercare, small tastes that leave me craving more.

I’m not done playing his games yet.

I shake off the thoughts in my head, and focus on the events ahead of me. During a cab ride back to the hotel, excited energy flutters around my stomach as I think of Kylo showing me off to friends.

I take my time getting ready- a long soak in the bath with soft oils and perfumes, shaving until everything is silky smooth, makeup and hair in classic styles. After I dress in the appropriate outfit, I check myself in the full length mirror.

_The black dress. No stockings. The silver heels. Red lipstick._ Just as he requested.

Well, Kylo Ren doesn’t request. He controls. He orders. Instructs. Directs.  _Commands._

As I’m gazing at my reflection, pleased with my appearance, I can’t help but notice the faint purple bruises around my wrists. I should feel ashamed, maybe embarrassed. But instead I feel pride showing off the marks from my Master. 

Kylo has been away all day, meeting with collectors and buyers. While I’m doing the final touch ups of my makeup, I hear him enter the suite and start his shower.

I have time to kill, so I throw on some layers and step out on the balcony for a smoke.

When I go back inside and shed my coat and scarf, the shower is no longer running but he still isn’t ready. So I keep myself busy by pouring a glass of wine in the kitchen, click clacking my heels as I walk.

Half a glass of red later  and he finally appears. Looking  _mouthwatering._

He’s in all black, of course, and this time he’s donned a matte black tie to go with the shirt and dress pants. I watch him scan up and down my body, checking for all of the details he  _commanded._

The dress is short and tight, strapless and low cut, hugging all of my curves snuggly, leaving very little to the imagination. My lips are stained blood red, the silver stilettos sparkle on my feet, my legs are bare and crying out to be caressed. 

“Mm. Almost perfect,” he assesses. 

“Almost?” My heart sinks a bit, wondering what I could have done differently. 

He puts on his coat, reaches into his pocket, and extracts a small box just like the one from last night. But _this one_ has Tiffany blue ribbon wrapping around it. 

“A reward. For following instructions.”

Kylo places it in my hand and I’m not sure what to expect from him anymore, so I reserve all hypotheses of what could be inside and gently untie the bow. 

Within the box are two dainty platinum and diamond bracelets. 

They’re absolutely exquisite, and my finger traces around each of them gently. Afraid to take them out of the box. I’ve never been given such an expensive gift. 

Kylo reaches over and takes the box from my hands, sets it on the table and starts clasping one bracelet on each wrist. When he’s done I move my hands back and forth, watching in awe as the small gems glitter in the light. They sit delicately on top of my purple bruises and the contrast is overwhelmingly beautiful. 

“Wow.  _Thank you_ _,_ they’re gorgeous. I don’t deserve them, oh gosh,” I’m sputtering. 

But he stops me with a kiss. Not a gentle one, but one of ownership. The fierce kiss speaks the words he doesn’t need to say aloud- _“I want you to wear them, so you’ll wear them, don’t question me.”_

When he pulls away, he leaves the taste of confidence on my lips and I don’t dispute the gift again. 

We share a cigarette outside while waiting for Ap’lek, and Kylo opens the door for me when the town car arrives. 

The sun has set and the city is lit with thousands of twinkling lights as we drive through. When we pull up near the soccer stadium I’m absolutely perplexed, this  _definitely_ isn’t the restaurant I called. 

“Change of plans,” says Kylo. “I decided today that a chef deserves the finest foods.”

I look at my surroundings and I’m still confused about why we’re by a sporting venue, but then I see the sign next door: Geranium. 

_Holy shit._ We’re eating dinner at Denmark’s only three star Michelin restaurant. The culinary part of my brain is  beyond excited. Excited is no where near the right word. I’ve read amazing things about their tasting menu, usually around 20 small courses of delicious foods that look like stunning artwork. 

“You approve?” he asks needlessly, I’m sure the enthusiasm is clearly drawn upon my face. 

“You’re spoiling me,” I blush. The diamonds on my wrists somehow still sparkle in the dark of the backseat. 

“You’re the muse for tonight’s show, you’ve earned spoils. Come, our guests are waiting inside.”

The restaurant is simple but beautiful. We take the elevator up to the eighth floor and the view of the city is stunning. The furniture is sleek and Nordic. The tables are covered in white linens and crystal glasses, flowers and candles. 

I’m delighted to see that the kitchen is on full display, open and visible from all parts of the restaurant. And when the hostess leads us to a table close to the food preparation area, I’m elated. 

Three men are already seated and they stand to greet us when we arrive. I only recognize Cardo, but the other two are just as dashing. 

I shake hands with each of them as Kylo makes introductions. 

“You’ve met Cardo, of course,” he says. Cardo’s thumb delicately strokes the back of my hand while I’m in his grasp. A bold move in front of Kylo who’s watching him like a hawk. 

“And these are Kuruk,” he gestures towards the redhead, “and Ushar,” he nods to the tall man with mocha skin, “former colleagues from Glasgow.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” I respond demurely, acutely aware of how each of the four men have predatory eyes. 

Kylo holds out my chair and pushes me in, the men take their seats after I’m settled. Our waiter comes to explain the tasting menu and wine pairing, I astutely listen to every detail and ask a few questions about the seasonal ingredients.

Dinner is high-class excellence. 

Each dish has been so thoughtfully prepared, so beautifully plated. It’s hard to keep my eyes off of the kitchen, watching the masters at work. The waiter answers all of my inquiries, and I kick myself for not throwing my journal in a purse so that I can keep notes. But who needs a purse when you’re out with Kylo Ren?

The men at the table are interesting enough to draw my attention away from the culinary work in front of me. 

Kuruk’s accent is thick and deliciously Scottish. He teaches architecture, loves travel, and we spend a good while discussing my previous global adventures. He tells me tidbits about some of the buildings in places I’ve visited, and I feel like we could talk for hours. 

Ushar is also intriguing. He’s American, and we have a great chat about his hometown of Portland, Oregon and how much we both love the Pacific Northwest. He teaches illustration, and lets me jot some culinary notes down in the small sketch pad he always keeps in his pocket. 

Cardo tells me about himself as well. He’s known Kylo since college, he also went to Hunter for painting. Decided that he couldn’t make it as a professional, and that his true love is running galleries. He chose to start his first here in his home country, finding America’s art scene “too vanilla”.

The courses keep coming as we talk, and each one is so different from the last but it all flows so cohesively. 

The sommelier explains each wine, the flavor notes, and why certain combinations pair well with the different foods. They say that you eat with your eyes first, and boy do they deliver. Every plate is gorgeous, it feels like a true balance between art and food.

I can’t help but think of  _whatever_ I am to Kylo, and how our two worlds are colliding in this restaurant.

There’s an electric buzz running through my veins throughout the entire meal. Partly from the wine, partly from the scrumptious bites of food, but mostly because as the night goes on I realize  how much attention each man is giving me.

Sure, they spend time catching up on personal and university matters- which professors have left or gotten tenure, what classes are available this year, different projects they’re each working on, etc. But most of the conversation is centered around me, talking to me, getting my attention.

Kylo is doing a lot of sitting back, observing, watching the way the men fawn over me. Which is _not_ what I expected, but then again I guess I’m here to be shown off.

He offers more clarity when we’re back in the town car, headed to the gallery.

“What did you think?” he inquires.

“That was incredible, _fuck,_ thank you so much. I’ve never eaten at a Michelin star restaurant before and this one has three! I totally understand why, that was all masterclass.” I’m absolutely gushing word vomit.

“Good. And?”

“And your friends?” I’m not sure how to tell Kylo how much I liked them without stepping over a boundary, so I stay nonchalant. “They’re nice. I can see why you’re all close.”

Kylo stares out the window for a moment, and I can see the wheels turning in his devilish mind. He’s up to something, I can tell.

When he turns back to me, I watch his eyes dance across my diamond/bruised wrists before his baritone voice speaks.

“Pick two.”

“Pick... two? Pick two for what?” I ask lamely, not comprehending.

But the longer he looks at me, and the more his hand trails up the inside of my bare thigh, the faster I’m beginning to understand.

When he leans down to kiss my neck, goosebumps explode across my skin as he whispers in my ear.

“Pick two of them. I feel like sharing tonight.”


	29. Chapter 29

The gallery is packed when we pull up. Kylo walks in, a few steps ahead of me, and is immediately greeted with applause and a swarm of people around him. 

I knew better than to think I’d be by his side tonight, but it’s still lame to watch him like this from afar. Especially given the _context_ of the exhibition photos. Instead of sulking, or pouting for his attention, I mingle throughout the party. 

The lights are dim, and there’s sensual dark music in the background. Tall taper candles are placed on many of the surfaces, casting shadows and flickering flames. 

Somehow the gallery is even more mysterious, sexual,  _dangerous._

A sign calls the series “Tethered Triptych”, and three of the walls have been covered in the photos. To my left, the scenes of me writing on the couch in the library. Dozens of pictures of my clothed body, never my face, and the energy is very innocent. Observational. 

The second wall displays the progression of bondage. Ropes and loops and knots. Innocence is gone, these pictures are darker.

And finally to my right are the scenes with my reddened skin, the lingering patterns left from the tightly bound ropes. A delicate balance between pain and beauty.

My cheeks flush as I watch all of these strangers chatting and drinking while surrounded by graphic moments from my life. They burn red as I watch people gazing upon the photos and discussing the details with their companions.

But Kylo was right, it’s fun to see their reactions. Everyone seems enthralled by the series, loving his revolutionary work yet again. 

There’s an intoxicating exhilaration to being the woman in the frames. I walk anonymously through the crowd catching snippets of conversations, listening in on the praise people have for the artist _and_ the model. 

As I’m staring at the drink cart, deciding between champagne or liquor, Cardo appears at my side.

“Hello again, beautiful,” he smolders. “What do you think of the setup?”

“It’s definitely an... experience.”

“It absolutely is. We want the guests to spend a while at each wall, soaking in that section of time before moving on to the next phase. It’s very powerful.”

His hand is on my lower back while he pours himself a glass of gin. Gently resting, fingers barely meeting my dress, but the gesture is apparent.

I have a sneaking feeling that Kylo’s friends knew about his proposition  _before_ dinner. Which would explain why they’re all trying to win me over. They’re playing a game. 

I’m sure Ushar and Kuruk will make appearances soon, doing their best to win my favor.

Kylo has given me some sense of power over these men, _I_ control who’s worthy of sharing my body. But I also know that Kylo holds even more power over all of us. The whole game is leaving a tingling sensation just below my skin, I’m brimming with anticipation.

Cardo’s hand stays on my lower back as I mix myself a dirty martini, and it only leaves once I turn to face him.

“I noticed people putting little circle stickers on the wall next to the photos?” I inquire, curious about how this all works.

“Each patron was given three stickers, and if they’d liketo purchase art tonight they must buy in sets of three. They select one photo from each wall, and then at home they’ll display them in the three panel triptych style. He’s truly a genius.”

We sip our drinks and scan the crowd, watching the elite of the art world mingling and claiming photos with their different colored stickers. He talks to me for a while, touches me in other small flirtatious ways. Only when someone wants to make a large purchase does Cardo leave my side.

My heels carry me over to the first collection, immersing myself in the experience like the other guests. Martini in hand, I gaze up at the wall littered with different angles and cropped sections of my clothed body.

I watch as Kylo talks with buyers, artists, journalists. Every so often I see his eyes flick my direction, never giving me his full attention but letting me know that he’s _always_ watching.

The version of me in the photos is my natural state. Blue jeans, vintage tee, bare face, messy hair, journal in hand. As I walk to the next wall, my high heels click and the diamond bracelets sparkle. I’m a different person tonight.

Looking up at the pictures of Kylo’s rope on my body, I can’t help but get turned on all over again. The guests around me might be aroused by the images, but  they have _no idea_ how amazing he truly is.

I’m reminiscing about the euphoric high of giving up all control, when Kuruk approaches.

“I noticed you were running low,” he says while handing me a new martini. Dirty, just how I prefer. 

“A gentleman and a scholar,” I joke. “Thank you.”

We spend a while talking, he lingers intimately close. It’s a powerful feeling to stand in front of these bondage pictures of me, wielding power over a man that desperately wants to fuck me. 

Kylo watches from across the room.

I leave Kuruk while he talks with an acquaintance, and find Ushar at the third wall. He’s staring up at a particular photo of my thighs, red with the impressions from the rope. He’s mesmerized.

“You like this one,” I state, more than ask.

“Absolutely enchanting. The soft skin marked so roughly, but in time it will fade into a blank canvas once again.” He turns to face me before continuing, “I was also just thinking about how I recognize those legs.”

He scans down my short dress, quickly finds the bare skin of my legs. His eyes are hawklike as he takes in every inch.

While we talk, he stands intimately close  _and_ keeps finding ways to touch my body. We discuss literature and poetry, he brushes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. 

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.” Kylo’s deep voice and sudden appearance send electricity crackling through my limbs.

“Just getting to know your friends more,” I offer playfully.

Ushar steps slightly to the side and adds more space between our bodies, surely an unconscious move brought on by Kylo’s constant alpha energy. He excuses himself to socialize, pats Kylo on the back before he departs.

“The show is incredible,” I tell him. “It’s presented beautifully. Everyone seems very pleased.”

“It would have been nothing without the right model.” His hand slides up the curve of my waist. “Mm, from mouse to muse.”

I smile at his words, and especially at the look on his face. I can tell he’s growing bored with the party, he looks  _hungry,_ and I’ve grown to understand what usually follows.

“I’ve decided, Sir.” I know he gets my meaning.

“Go on.”

“Ushar and Cardo.”

“As you wish,” he replies simply. But I see the twinkle in his eye as he continues his rounds through the exhibit. 

He spends a few more hours entertaining the guests. I see him talking business with Cardo, and presumably pleasure as well based on the looks they give me from across the room. 

When the event is finished, I look around at nearly every picture marked as claimed. 

We bundle up and step into the chill night, but my skin is on fire with expectation. Ap’lek drives us through the city and we meet Cardo at his apartment, Ushar isn’t far behind. 

His loft is beautiful, his taste in art and furniture is impeccable. Our after party is spent in his living room, drinking and talking while lounging on large couches and a plush rug. I’ve kicked off my heels at this point, and I’m perched on Kylo’s lap, facing him, when Cardo is bold enough to make the first move. 

He’s next to us on the couch, and as I’m sitting on Kylo he pulls my face over to his and kisses me deeply. Kylo’s hands are on my hips and he’s holding on roughly. I can feel his growing erection beneath me, and when my mouth leaves Cardo’s, Kylo’s face is a mix between lust and rage. 

Kylo’s hand moves between my legs, and I can’t help but smirk when he finds that I’m not wearing any panties under the tiny dress he picked out.

He lets out a moan, and from my peripheral I can see Ushar and Cardo pulling their erections out of their pants, lazily stroking as they watch us.

Kylo does the same, except he roughly enters my wet cunt with a demanding thrust.

I let out a gasp, falling forward onto his chest, and he lets me ride him slowly as he cinches up my dress and unzips the back so I can pull it up and over my head. In an instant I’m naked, aside from my diamond bracelets, fucking Kylo in front of his friends.

Kylo’s hands are on my waist, and he doesn’t mind when Cardo pulls me down so that my mouth meets his cock. I gag on him as Kylo moves me up and down his length.

In time I sit up and turn to my other side, reaching out for Ushar with my hand. Riding Kylo while stroking the other man next to him. Both are large, and Ushar pulls me into a kiss while my hand struggles to encircle his entire girth.

We go back and forth like this for a while, I fuck Kylo while giving the other men attention. 

Eventually someone suggests we move to the bedroom, and Cardo leads the way while Kylo pulls me by my hand. I walk naked down the hallway while the men are stripping their layers.

I lay on the bed and watch as they each become increasingly naked as well. The other two wait to follow Kylo’s lead, he takes his tie in his hands and walks to me. 

I allow him to blindfold me, expertly knotting it behind my head.

The world goes dark and my remaining senses are heightened, I wait for whatever comes next.


	30. Chapter 30

With my sight gone, I rely on touch and sound. And  _taste._ It doesn’t take long before hands are on my body, caressing different areas of soft skin. Exploring the peaks of my breasts, the valley between my thighs.

No one speaks, lest I figure out who they are. The game wouldn’t be as fun that way.

I’m reminded of the photograph from Cardo’s gallery. The woman with the anonymous hands, screaming in ecstasy.

A mouth kisses mine, while another swirls circles on my nipple. I can feel the weight of someone joining me on the bed, a body is crawling over me. My legs are spread apart and I can tell that I’m dripping wet. The man on the bed teases his hard cock against my clit, then moves lower and slowly enters me. My back arches in pleasure and my hands grip at the sheets.

While someone is fucking me sensually, a hand tilts my head towards the edge of the bed. Fingers caress my face, a thumb works its way into my mouth. I suck the man’s finger and he presses down on my tongue.

He pushes down until my mouth opens, he guides his dick into it with ease. The man inside my cunt picks up his pace, presumably watching as I gag on another man.

I can feel as the third joins the bed on my other side, another rock hard phallus finds its way into my hand.

Three men using my body in different vile ways. And I feel _incredible._ I’m the center of attention, the object they all desperately want to share, the sex doll Kylo promised.

Someone pulls out of me, someone flips me over, someone enters me from behind. He pulls me up on my hands and knees, fucks me doggy style, and every once in a while _smacks_ my ass with force. Surely it will bruise, and I scream each time he hurts me with pleasure.

I can hear the other two men touching themselves, stroking their manhoods while watching the scene before them. One of them is Kylo, I recognize the sound of his moan as the man fucking me slams fully into my cunt.

There’s a freedom in wearing the blindfold, I’m not distracted by the sights or how I look in the moment. I’m just feeling. Feeling  _everything._

After a while the man leaves me, someone turns me back over and pulls my ass to the edge of the bed. He kneels down on the ground and his mouth finds my clit. As his tongue is swirling me towards an orgasm, I feel a stiff cock placed in each of my hands.

I stroke the two men as the third assaults my nerves. I’m writhing while creeping closer to cumming, moaning and frantically moving my hands up and down the other men’s erections. 

When I fall over the edge, white explodes behind my eyes and I can’t help but scream in ecstasy. Hands massage my body, my skin tingles at every touch. I can feel wetness dripping down my sex. 

After a moment of rest, there’s another shuffle and someone lays down and moves me so that now I’m on top of them. 

I’m perched on my knees, with my hands on the man’s chest as I ride him. Grinding my hips so he moves in and out of my slick entrance, digging my nails into his skin. His hands grab around my wrists, the diamond bracelets pinch into my skin like the metal cuffs. 

I lean into another set of hands trailing up and down my spine, and then feel the weight of a body joining the bed. The hands are massaging my hips as I ride the man below me. They move between my thighs, swiping my wetness up towards my ass.

When I realize what they have in mind, my body begins to tremble slightly with anticipation.

The man underneath me slows his movements as the second man gets behind me, positions himself before I feel the tip of his cock teasing the entrance of my ass. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he enters me as well.

My body tenses at the pain, the feeling of being filled beyond belief, and the men give me time to adjust to the new sensation. Soon the pain mixes with intense pleasure, and I feel brave enough to move.

The two men sense the shift and begin to fuck me in earnest. My body is on _fire,_ electric waves radiating through every fiber of my being. I’ve never felt anything like this in my entire life.

Four hands are gripping onto my body while their two dicks work in and out of my holes. I’m making animalistic sounds, sweat glistens over my skin.

A third man grabs my head, pulls my hair and cranes my neck until my face is tilted towards him. His erection slips into my open mouth in the middle of one of my moans. The sounds vibrate onto him, causing him to buck into my throat and tug my hair even harder.

I lift a hand and stroke him while I remove my mouth to catch my breath, panting while the two other men bring me close to orgasm once again.

This one is different though. It’s rumbling up from my core like thunder, coming from a primal place deep within.

My left hand is digging into the chest below me, my right hand is stroking a cock, my ass and cunt are being fucked at the same time. My senses are on  overdrive. The men are unrelenting and the wave violently crashes over me, body arching into the _euphoria._

The men continue through my screams, the one standing next to us enters my mouth once again. Large hands grab either side of my face and move me up and down his hard length.

He delicately moves my hair out of the way. Unrelentingly fucks my mouth, hits the back of my throat, makes me gag while he gently strokes my face. 

As all three men assault my body, I feel him move his hands to the back of my head to untie the blindfold. It falls away and reality comes into focus. 

I blink rapidly and look up to see Kylo’s piercing dark eyes looking down on me. He yanks my hair to pull me off of him, and turns my face so I can see the scene. 

Ushar is beneath me, grinding his body up into my cunt. I look over my shoulder to see Cardo fucking my ass. Kylo turns me back to him, fills my mouth once again. I look up to his face and see that his eyes are fixated on what they’re doing to my body, the way they’re filling me completely. 

The others are getting closer to finishing, and Kylo can sense it. Before they do, he has them pull out of me so he can have his way. 

He lays me back on the bed and puts my legs up on his toned shoulders. He slips inside of me easily, I’ve been dripping wet all night, but his size will always take my breath away. 

His hips thrust into me, over and over. The men have been edging closer to orgasms all night, and I’m not surprised when I see them stroking their cocks above me. 

Kylo fucks me roughly, while his fingers move between my folds to circle my clit as he throws me towards cumming a third time. When I do, my back arches and my hands tug at my hair. 

I look up to see Ushar stroking himself off to my moans, ropes of cum fall across my tits. When I rub it against my skin, letting it glide across my hard nipples, Cardo cums as well, across my stomach. They pant while twisting and jerking their manhoods as Kylo continues to ravish me. 

I’m lightheaded and dizzy, the sensations are almost too much. 

My eyes fix on Kylo’s face. I watch him observe _every_ detail of my defiled body. The cum of other men across my skin, the diamond cuffs around my bruised wrists, my fingers pulling at my nipples. 

He cums last, and hardest, and I never want him to stop looking at me this way as he finishes deep inside my cunt.

Later, when we’re back at our hotel suite, he leads me by the hand to his shower. His large hands delicately unzip and remove my dress, unclasp my bracelets, unpin my disheveled hair. My body is weak from being used, and he softly cleanses my skin with soap and massages, then gently towels me dry.

And when he lays me down in  _his_ bed, naked and radiating heat from the steamy shower, my mind only has a few moments to appreciate where I am before I drift off into deep sleep.

In the morning, my eyes don’t open immediately and I swim in that lovely space between sleep and consciousness. As my body slowly wakes, my mind is racing to keep up. Remembering  _everything_ that happened last night. With Kylo. And Cardo. And Ushar.

I smile into the pillow and then open my eyes to the most unfamiliar sight.

Kylo Ren, _asleep._

We aren’t cuddling per se. But we’re lying on our sides facing each other from our separate pillows, a mere breath apart. He has one arm draped over my waist. We’re... comfortable.

He’s relaxed, calm,  innocent even. His hair is gorgeously unkempt, his lashes are full, his birthmarks splatter across his face. I savor this small moment, this glimpse into intimacy.

When he stirs, I close my eyes again, not wanting to be caught gazing. I feel him wake fully, roll away from me, and eventually leave the bed completely. The hot and cold energy is back, and I silently wonder if it will always be present.

I leave his bed when I hear him in his closet, packing for our flight. Tiptoeing across the suite to my own room to do the same, I start the coffee pot along the way to help wake my sore muscles.

Moments from last night replay in my head as I sip the black brew while enveloped in my robe. I carefully fold my mix of expensive designer clothes, grungy vintage pieces, and high end lingerie.

But every time I blink there are delicious flashes of memories, feelings,  _sensations._

Kylo joins me eventually. Walks up from behind, wraps his arms around my waist, leans down to rest his chin on my shoulder. I’m still in my robe, coffee in hand, deciding what to wear today. 

“The grey dress,” he points to the one with the tight waist and pencil skirt.

He kisses my neck and opens one of his hands in front of me. The bracelets slide into my palm and he leaves me to get ready for the day. I dutifully wear the clothes he has chosen, add the peep toe heels, and finish emptying the hotel room of my belongings.

Just before I don my coat and scarf, I make sure to clasp a bracelet on each wrist. The diamonds glitter in the morning sunlight, gleaming with luxury and ownership. 


	31. Chapter 31

The flight to Amsterdam is quick at just over an hour and our driver, a man called Trudgen, picks us up from the airport. We drive over bridges and across canals, winding toward the center of the city.

The air is cold and holiday decorations adorn the buildings, but it won’t be a white Christmas this year. The narrow streets and sidewalks are clear and most of the traffic is on foot or bike. I gaze out the window, reminiscing on the first and only time I’ve been here.

It was almost five years ago, during spring break, and Rose and I backpacked our way through parts of Europe. We spent two weeks eating, drinking, and partying our way through London, Paris, and Amsterdam.

What a carefree time. We were both still in school, Rose was living in the UPenn dorms and I had a shitty studio close by in West Philly. My first long term partner had just broken my heart, Rose was  _still_ a virgin somehow, and we needed a vacation worthy of the memory books.

Our trip started out serious enough, visiting the museums of London and following the guidebooks her parents gave us. France was more laid back, we hung out with hip Parisians and did what the locals do. And by the time we left The Netherlands, Rose was deflowered and I had raved so hard that the pain of my breakup faded away.

For years we’ve been talking about going back, and here I am, but  _this_ trip is different. I won’t be staying in hostels or using my luggage as a pillow on cramped trains.

Trudgen chauffeurs us to the Waldorf Astoria, and when we check in I’m elated to see that our grand suite has a canal view.

We have separate beds again, I didn’t want to make any assumptions while booking our arraignments. The rooms are beautifully decorated, bright whites and crisp linens. Kylo is in all black as usual, contrasting wildly against his surroundings.

After hanging clothes and unpacking toiletries, I slip off my heels and pull out my laptop to work on the couch.

There’s an email from Cardo and seeing his name makes my thighs clench. As of this afternoon,  _every_ print has sold. He ends the note by letting me know that he’s acquired a set of his own, and that he hopes I look him up the next time I’m in Denmark.

It makes me blush, thinking of the  _things_ we did together and the fact that naked photos of me will live in his collection forever. But it also causes a dull heartbeat to throb between my thighs.

I correspond back and forth with Phasma for a while, updating her on the sales and assuring her that Kylo still has the negatives to go in her archives. We don’t discuss the subject of the photos.

As I’m going over the schedule spreadsheet, I can see Kylo at the desk. He’s sketching in his notepad, he only ever does that when he has an idea he doesn’t want to forget. His brows are furrowed and he seems on edge, his black ink pen furiously etches across the page.

I turn my attention back to the schedule, trying to stay focused instead of staring. The rest of his day is clear, tomorrow he has a meeting with someone named Luke, the next day is Christmas, and then we leave the following morning. Less hectic than Denmark, thankfully.

“We’re going out,” he says abruptly.

Crumpling up whatever he was working on, he throws it in the trash and walks to the bar cart. After swigging down a splash of whiskey, he closes my laptop and pulls me up on my feet.

“Where are we going?” I ask while slipping my heels back on and grabbing a coat.

“I need inspiration. Stimulation.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when we pull up to the Van Gogh Museum I’m smiling from ear to ear.

We spend hours walking through the galleries, paying our respects to the famous Dutch artist. His works are a mix between bright and dark, hopeful and ominous, a telling sign of his mental illness and mood swings.

Kylo can’t help but revert back to his professor ways, pointing out details in the works and explaining the man’s influences. I soak up as much of the information as I can, enthralled with this layer of his personality, content with being by his side.

I’m drawn to the happier images, the “Sunflowers” and “Almond Blossoms”, saturated with color and blooming to life.

Kylo prefers the morose paintings. The macabre “Skull with Burning Cigarette”, the gloomy and shadowy self portraits.

It’s apparent that Vincent was torn between the light and the dark. And as I steal glances at Kylo, I see the same battle being fought. He can be so mean, so  _cruel,_ but then he has these moments of tenderness that make me wonder what’s simmering beneath the surface. 

I want to ask him what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, I can tell his mind is somewhere heavy today. But I don’t pry for fear of overstepping. 

Later, as we sit across from each other at dinner, a cautious smile paints itself across my face. We’re at an upscale restaurant, Kylo ordered for me, and now we’re discussing art and literature. First the museum and now this... I’m too scared to voice the word  _date_ aloud. 

He’s been talking to me about his next series, how he wants to create anamorphic projections that distort reality and force perspective. He’s impassioned, explaining the upcoming projects he has in the works. 

“Is your meeting with the art buyer tomorrow about a new project or something you’ve already finished?” I inquire. 

Kylo’s face twists, transforms from enthused to stormy in an instant. His entire demeanor changes, and the furious mood from earlier has returned in a flash. 

“Luke isn’t a buyer,” he responds, his words dripping with distaste. 

“Oh, I just assumed, you’ve been meeting with so many and I-“

“He’s my uncle.”

There’s a heavy silence between us. Kylo is  seething with antipathy, annoyed that we’re discussing this at all. Meanwhile my brain is trying to catch up, quickly putting puzzle pieces together. 

His... uncle? His uncle who happens to be in The Netherlands? 

And then it clicks into place. 

Oh my god you  _idiot,_ his mother lives and works in The Hague, of course his family is here. They must have heard that he’d be in Denmark, which is a hell of a lot closer than New York City, and asked him to come. It explains why his schedule is clear of all work related meetings. 

And judging from the look on his face right now, he’s not happy about it. 

“Oh,” is all I muster. 

I’m not sure how to tread these waters, how to discuss a topic that so clearly strikes a nerve. We’ve never talked about his family, or mine for that matter, our conversations have either been focused on work or sex. 

I realize now that everything I know about him I’ve either read on the internet or learned from someone else. He’s never divulged a single personal detail to me, other than his  _very specific tastes._

Instead of pushing him to open up, I let the silence sit for a while. The energy slowly mellows, Kylo relaxes more as each moment goes by. 

We finish dinner and the tension is still lingering, so I offer him a cigarette while we wait for the driver. He takes the pack from my hand, withdraws two smokes, puts them in his mouth and lights them both before handing me one. 

We stand intimately close, he blocks the cold wind with his large frame. 

Trudgen picks us up eventually, and as we meander through the city Kylo’s hand is lazily wandering up and down my smooth leg. I’m lost in the sensation, the chills he’s eliciting, when I look out the window and realize we’re not going towards our hotel. I’ve been in this city before, and slowly begin to recognize that we’re headed right into the De Wallen neighborhood. 

The Red Light District. 

I turn to Kylo, nervous about whatever his intentions are, but also excited by the possibilities. His face is neutral as usual, but there’s a glint in his eye when he assesses my reaction. 

“Inspiration and stimulation, little mouse.”

We’re dropped off on a street that isn’t as bustling as the main drag, but there are still beautiful women showcasing their bodies in brightly lit windows. They tap the glass, vying for Kylo’s attention, dance and sway in their alluring outfits or lack there of.

I smile and nod _hello_ and _no thank you_ as he leads me to an unassuming building, never looking towards the working girls.

The inside is dim, not very crowded, and seems to be a classy bar of some sort. Kylo chats with the bartender while I’m surveying the scene, wondering what the end game is here. He returns with a glass of liquor for himself, a red wine for me, and two tickets.

“What is this place?” I ask, curious about what I’m missing.

“A theater,” is all he replies, guiding me through a doorway and into the seating area.

The room is very dark, but buzzing with chatter and excitement as everyone waits for the show. We have a table to ourselves, near the middle of the crowd, and we sip our drinks while letting our eyes adjust.

When a stunning woman with a blue wig, white corset, fishnets, and clear heels walks out with a spotlight to address the audience, I’m starting to understand where I am exactly. And when the curtain lifts to reveal a large bed with a man and woman already in the throes of fucking, it’s beyond crystal clear.

He’s brought me to a  _sex theater_ , to watch sex acts performed on stage.

My head whips around to face him, and even in the darkness I can see that he’s watching me intently. The moans of the couple fill the room, I’m sure my eyes are wide with a mix of surprise and excitement.

His large hand creeps up my spine and then grabs the back of my neck and a chunk of my hair. He roughly turns my head back towards the stage, forcing me to take in the sights.

He never turns away though. From my peripheral I can see how he continues to watch me, getting off on my reactions. And dutiful as ever, I keep my eyes glued to the depravity displayed before me. 


	32. Chapter 32

The woman has blonde hair in a long braid, a fair complexion, and a beautifully curvaceous frame. She’s on top of a man, riding his muscular body while his large hands grip her waist.

I’m watching them in awe, always keeping Kylo in the corner of my eye. He’s not interested in what’s happening on stage, he’s observing my every move. Hypnotized by every rise and fall of my chest as my breath becomes more shallow. Drinking in every small gasp escaping my mouth.

They’re grinding passionately, and I watch as one of his hands moves to grab her ponytail. He tugs it harshly, ripping her head backwards. Her cries of pain and pleasure echo throughout the dark room. 

As he’s yanking her hair, forcing her back to arch and her face to tilt towards the theater’s ceiling, he begins thrusting upwards and fucking her with vigor. She’s trapped in this position, helpless as one of his hands holds her hair like a leash and the other grips her hip into place.

I can feel wetness pooling between my thighs, seeping into my lace panties as I observe. A sound from the next table catches my attention, and when I turn and blink into the darkness, I can just barely see a woman kissing a man while he’s stroking his exposed cock.

Back on stage, he’s turned the woman over and is driving his full length into her harshly. Her face is in the mattress, her muffled cries still loud enough for all to hear. Over and over again his hips snap into hers, slapping the skin roughly and I can see her ass is already turning pink.

His hands fondle her breasts, pinching her nipples and eliciting more sounds. He’s getting close, his own moans are becoming louder and needier. I watch as the man pulls the woman up on her knees, places both hands around her neck and begins to squeeze.

Her grunts and gasps are desperate, his thrusts are animalistic. She’s surely feeling  _incredible_ amounts of pleasure, her eyes are closed as she submits to the lightheaded high of having her oxygen stolen.

He’s fucking her faster, harsher, gripping her neck and holding her very life in his hands while he propels them both closer to orgasm.

Soon she’s making no sound at all, the only noises are his ragged breaths and their skin slapping together.

“Tulp,  _tulp!”_ she meekly croaks out.

I recognize her safe word as Dutch for  _tulip._ His hands release her fragile neck and she gulps down air, upper body falling back into the mattress as the dizzy rush of oxygen heightens every sensation.

As she’s writhing and screaming through the pleasure, he pulls out and aggressively strokes his cock as he cums across her back and ass. I hear the man at the table next to us sputter his own orgasm into his hand. 

The velvet curtain falls again, but the lights in the room stay dim. Soon enough the next scene is presented and when the curtain rises, my eyes eagerly take in every detail. 

The bed is gone and so is the previous couple. Standing in the middle of the stage is an alluring woman with dark brown skin and wild curls. She’s scantily clad in all black leather, and the only word to describe her would be  _dominatrix._

Her boots lace up to her mid thigh, her bra and short-shorts cling to her skin. She stands confidently, letting the audience soak in her commanding attitude. In her hands is what I recognize to be a cat o’ nine tails whip. 

But beside her is something even more intriguing. A giant X, slightly taller than the woman, made of dark wood.

I watch as another woman joins her on stage, completely naked. She’s covered in a splatter of freckles, brown hair falls to her shoulders. The dominatrix kisses her at first, hands running up and down her figure.

But the mood shifts and she forces her submissive to the floor. She speaks to her in Dutch and I don’t need a translator to figure out what she’s commanded. The brunette begins licking up the entire length of one of the leather boots.

The dominatrix stands tall, letting the audience take it all in as she flexes her control. When the tongue of her submissive reaches her bare thigh, she pushes her back down to repeat the action on her other leg.

She pulls the woman up to her feet and guides her to the cross. One by one, she begins restraining her limbs to the cuffs on each post. When she’s finished, her submissive is spread out in an X, both hands and both feet secured to the device. 

I turn to Kylo, intrigued beyond belief.

“What is that?” I ask him.

He turns to the stage, only needs to observe for a moment before returning to his position of watching me.

“Saint Andrew’s Cross,” he expertly assesses.

Before turning back to watch the stage, my hand trails up his leg and finds a stiff erection pressing against his pants. His breath hitches when I palm him suggestively through the fabric.

As my fingers play with his bulge, I watch the dominatrix walk a circle around her restrained submissive. Her hand moves swiftly, whipping the leather against the brunette’s stomach. It  _snaps_ against her skin, pink marks instantly appear.

“Dank je,” she replies to her Madame.  _Thanks her_ for the pain.

This pleases the dominatrix, who runs the tasseled whip along the brunette’s bare breasts. They repeat this process a dozen times- whipping, thanking, caressing, again and again.

Her pale skin is littered with pink and red, the blank canvas of her body has been painted with the dominatrix’s brush.

Kylo’s hand has been over mine, guiding it up and down his erection over his pants. When the woman in leather bends down to put her mouth on the exposed cunt of her restrained submissive, Kylo pulls his cock from his pants and wraps my fingers around his hard member. 

My mouth unconsciously opens into a moan, unable to stop myself from putting sound to my mood. I’m stroking Kylo’s length, savoring how incredibly hard he feels in my hand, while watching the woman on the cross screaming in ecstasy.

The dominatrix is on her knees, her fingers slide up and into her submissive, fucking her while circling her clit. Her mouth and hand work furiously, the X shaped woman tugs at her restraints while climbing closer and closer to orgasm.

I’m excited to watch her finish, but Kylo’s hand reaches to my head and roughly pulls me down to his cock. My lips open happily to accept him and he wastes no time tangling his hands in my hair and guiding me down his entire length.

I’m bobbing and gagging, Kylo is fucking my mouth, and the women on stage continue to fill the room with lewd noises.

He’s in full control of my motions, moving my head at the exact speeds he feels like. He’s using my body, and I don’t have to glance up to know what look he’s giving me in the dark. The controlling rage and passion of his chiseled face is etched in my mind.

When the woman on stage is licked to orgasm, her cries tell me how incredible her body is feeling on the cross.

And after Kylo cums down my throat, he gently tucks my hair behind my ear and wipes the drool from my chin with his thumb. 

We leave partway through the third act, he says he’s been  _inspired_ enough. We share a cigarette while waiting for our driver, the smoke mixes on my tongue with the lingering taste of wine and Kylo.


	33. Chapter 33

Waking on Christmas Eve to a bright and brisk morning, I'm alone in my own bed but the tussled sheets and my sore muscles swiftly remind me of last night's events. I blink away the dream I was just immersed in, and think of the evening's escapades instead.

I remember being drunk on red wine and Kylo. Making out in the back seat of the town car, not caring what Trudgen thought. Stripping down to nothing but my diamond cuffs as soon as we made it back to our suite.

Kylo threw me on my bed, used his tongue to push me to the brink of orgasm multiple times, but never let me fall over completely. He edged me closer and closer, pulled back until I started coming down, and then edged me closer yet again. It drove me absolutely wild.

After almost an hour of this complete control over my nerves and synapses, finally he stripped down and climbed on top of my body to fuck me. It was harsh, rough, needy.

And when he put his large hands around my throat, just like the man on stage had done with his partner, Kylo stared straight into my eyes and watched as I got insanely high on pleasure. 

My body was crackling with raw electricity, every one of his thrusts sent lightning bolts throughout my entire body. I was back on the precipice of orgasm, heightened by the lack of air that was starting to cause my vision to blur. 

When the world started going dark around the edges, I knew I couldn't take much more, no matter how badly I wanted to. My voice came out as a whispered croak, just barely audible.

 _"Y-yellow,"_ I desperately breathed.

Something about finally reaching one of my limits had an immediate effect on Kylo, who released the pressure on my neck and began fucking me _brutally._ I could tell how close he was, and one of his hands swiftly found its way between my legs and began circling my clit furiously.

When I came, he wasn't far behind. He called me _his little slut,_ claimed my body by painting his cum across my chest.

My aching muscles scream for coffee in the present tense, even though spending the day reminiscing in my luxurious hotel bed sounds like an amazing plan. Instead, I pull myself up out of the sheets and towards the shower. 

The rest of the suite is quiet, dark. A quick glance in Kylo's room shows that he's already gone for the day. A day where he'll be seeing his family. What an odd thought.

No note, no text, no hint of what his schedule will be like. Which bugs me as an assistant, but I can feel a different part of my brain that also feels annoyed. I immediately push that aside, scold myself for thinking he owes me any explanations like a _boyfriend_ would.

So I shower, dress in warm layers, and sip some black coffee while thinking back on my trip with Rose and some of our favorite hangouts here in town. Under the sleeves of my sweater I can feel the weight of the bracelets, binding my wrists even when no one else can see, subliminal signs of my submission to Kylo.

My feet hit the Amsterdam streets, bright winter sunshine gleams off of the historic and modern buildings. 

I wander through town, following one of the canals toward a neighborhood I'm more familiar with. I pass the hostel where Rose and I would crash between parties, I stop and reminisce in a small park where we made friends I wish I had kept in touch with, I mingle amongst a walking tour as they wander past the Anne Frank House.

I've already done the tourist things before, and today I just want to relax. So when I spot the cafe sign that reads "Amnesia", I know I've finally made it back to the favorite hangout spot from our vacation.

The weed smell hits me before I even open the door to the small cafe, and it's positively _divine_ after days of traveling Europe without my usual stash.

A very beautiful woman with blonde hair and a thick Dutch accent helps me choose which strain I'm in the mood for and I buy a few pre-rolls. She talks me into a couple chocolate "space cakes" that I have her wrap for later.

I find a seat and spark a joint of Lemon Haze while she makes my latte and helps the tourists who aren't sure where to begin. The room is small but cozy, and by far my favorite weed cafe in town. It's nice to be in a familiar space after such a whirlwind few weeks of feeling like a different version of myself.

I pull out my journal to write while the smoke tendrils curl through my lungs. My pen meets the blank paper and begins describing the dream I had last night.

_Stepping out of a giant labyrinth, I realized I was on the shore of a great lake. Through the grey mist I saw a lighthouse on the far side, and I knew I would find you there. I needed to find you. The freezing waves crashed at my feet as the angry wind whipped at my face. I knew I had to cross, so I folded a paper boat and became its captain. Over crashing waves I sailed, with the distant lighthouse beam guiding. Until I realized... paper boats don't float... and this lake was an entire ocean... and now I can't even see your light through the fog._

_As my paper boat began to shred and sink, I found myself on a sandbar in the middle of the sea. Blue, for miles and miles in any direction. Soon, the water at my ankles began to rise. And ever so slowly I could feel myself start to panic. Surrendering to the incoming tide, I closed my eyes. I still hadn't found you._

Sipping my latte and nibbling at a sandwich, I contemplate the dream. The dream where I tried so desperately to get to Kylo, to break through the impenetrable wall he's erected around his true self. _Ben Solo._

Why has he adopted this new persona? What happened in college that ripped his family apart? Is he willing to form real relationships, or is what I have as good as it gets? Is he even capable of goodness? Will he _ever_ drop the wall?

By now, the pot is coursing through my veins and my fingers are itching to pull out my phone to text him. I want to ask him how his day is going, ask if his meeting with his uncle has been productive, ask if he'll ever let me see him with his guard down. 

But I don't.

I crave the moments of intimacy, the pleasure, the pain. I'm afraid of causing too big a ripple that would scare him away or cause me to lose his favor.

The dream also alarms me, makes me wonder about the symbolism of drowning. A common theme, thinking back to my mermaid poem. Rose warned me not to get in too deep, to not lose sight of myself. I haven't, right? I'm still me, albeit with diamond cuffs around my wrists.

Instead of worrying, I focus my energy into my writing- letting the drugs flow from my mind, to my pen tip, to paper.

Soon a few hours and joints have gone by, I've chatted with friendly locals and had a lovely afternoon by all accounts. Still no word from Kylo, so I slowly wander back towards the hotel.

When I finally return, the winter sun is close to setting and my bones are chilled. I decide to flip on the electric fireplace in the living room, and settle onto the couch to work on some emails. But I lose focus quickly, and my eyes begin lazily wandering around the room. They eventually land on the wire waste-bin and the crumpled drawing Kylo threw away last night.

Curiosity overtakes me, and I can't help myself from tip toeing over to the basket even though I'm alone. 

Flattening out the paper on the desk, I see a face I don't recognize. It's an ink drawing of an older woman, stern jaw and warm eyes, hair pulled into two buns framing her strong face.

As I'm contemplating who she could be, and why he tossed her aside, I nearly jump out of my skin as the main door to the suite unlocks and opens.

For a few tense moments, Kylo and I just stare at each other.


	34. Chapter 34

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

I suddenly feel small, like a brazen child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. And just as I did when sneaking through the apartment, I immediately regret stepping over the line.

"I, I just got curious-"

"This is none of your business," Kylo snaps. In a handful of quick strides he's next to me at the desk, snatches the paper from my hands and throws it back in the trash.

He stomps toward his room, and I can tell whatever happened with his uncle today did not leave him in a good mood. I'm about to resign myself, to let him walk away without question. But then I remember my dream.

I remember the giant labyrinth, the ocean, the search for the true Kylo, the _drowning._ Enough is enough, I want answers. Before he gets to his room and tries to shut me out, like always, my words stop him in his tracks.

"Is that your mother? Leia?"

The tension in the air is thick. Palpable. I can feel raw emotion radiating off of him and the energy in the room has grown dark. So dark. When he turns to face me, I swear his hazel irises have gone jet black.

"Excuse me?" he says at a molasses pace.

I realize in an instant that I've given too much away by knowing her name, and that I've outed myself as a snoop.

But I don't care.

"I said, is that your mother? Her name is Leia, correct?"

His eyes are daggers and they pierce through my flesh like the blade of a hunter. If looks could kill I'd be dead hundreds of times over. When he finally speaks, his words are practically dripping with rage.

"Been spending time on the internet, huh? You have some _fucking nerve_ to poke around where you don't belong. She doesn't concern you. _This life_ doesn't concern you. Stay the _fuck_ out."

His voice raises in volume with each word he speaks, and by the end he's screaming. But I'm done being the skittish mouse. I don't scurry. I stand tall.

"Like _hell_ it doesn't concern me!" I shout back at him.

My bold words stun us both into silence for a moment, and the only sound in the room is our shared labored breathing. His hands are balled into fists at his side, my jaw is clenching so tightly that it's beginning to ache.

His eyes are still weapons of mass destruction, trying their best to destroy me where I stand. And when his intimidating glares don't force me to back down, he lets out a primal guttural noise and slams one of his fists onto the desk.

I wait a moment before speaking, letting the tension fizzle slightly.

"Let me in," I say softly while taking a step toward him. "Let me know you."

He stares at the desk, at his clenched hand. Softly, almost a whisper, he finally responds.

"You don't want to know me. Trust me."

"Yes I do." My words hurriedly fall from my mouth as I close the distance between us. "Trust _me.”_

Taking his hand, I lead him to the couch and direct him to sit. I perch myself half next to him, half on his lap, and run my fingers through his beautifully tussled raven hair. In time he begins to relax, his heart rate slows, his anger towards me turns into sadness about something else. I've never gotten this far past his wall; and I'll be damned if I turn back now.

"Tell me about seeing your uncle," I gently push.

His body clenches for a moment as he stares at the opposite wall. His voice is smaller than I've ever heard it when he begins explaining.

"He wants me to come to Christmas tomorrow. To reconcile with my mother."

I sit and listen, carefully letting him speak the most words I've ever heard him utter at once.

"My parents wanted me to go into law like my mother, or the Air Force like my uncle, or even my dad's shipping business. But I chose art, and they never understood the path I was on. Never _believed_ in me the way they should. And then I met Andy Snoke who gave me so many opportunities and he told me I could be whoever I wanted. That I could be the _best_ if I focused hard enough, got rid of enough distractions. And that's what my family was. A distraction from my true potential. And he was right. As soon as I cut them from my life, as soon as I killed _Ben Solo,_ I got everything I ever dreamed of. I make my art and I do it _my_ own way. They've never approved."

Kylo stops speaking, and I can feel a sadness wash over him. I wait for him to find the words.

"For years Luke kept reaching out. Trying to build a fucking bridge between me and my parents. I shut him down, shut _them_ out. And then... my dad died. Dropped dead while on a work trip. The great and charismatic Han Solo, died in a fucking hotel lobby. And mom has never forgiven me for not making up with him. For not... going to his funeral. And I've never forgiven _her_ for not trusting me to find my own path through life. She's such a fucking _hypocrite,_ saving the world when she can't even support her own son."

We sit for a while, his words hang in the air before slowly dissipating, and eventually there is a still calmness between us. I contemplate what exactly to say for a good five or ten minutes before responding.

"I think we should go. To Christmas."

He turns his face toward mine and his irises are back to the golden amber I've come to adore.

"We?"

"Yes, we. You don't have to keep going through life alone. I'm yours, in every way."

His eyes dart across my face and I can't tell exactly what he's thinking or what he's searching for. But I watch as something inside of him clicks, a switch gets turned.

"You're mine, in every way" he repeats back in his intoxicating baritone voice. Slowly, as if saying it again makes it real to him.

And in this moment I could easily fall off the face of the planet and drift carelessly into space, I'm _that_ fucking happy. Finally, a real moment with this man. After a month of running straight into brick walls, I've crashed through and now I'm seeing a new side of him. This feels like a true moment of intimacy. Something I've been wanting since the beginning.

One of his hands delicately traces the diamond bracelet cuff on my wrist, his other brushes the hair from my face before leaning in to kiss me tenderly. Our mouths meet and there is instant crackling electricity. Lightning bolts jolt from my lips and down through my core, igniting a fire within my chest.

We start out kissing delicately as if this moment could shatter if we move too abruptly. His tongue softly dances across mine, we each have our hands gingerly laced through each other's hair. 

But as time goes on and he kisses me deeper and deeper, our movements ramp up and soon he pulls me fully on top of his lap. Gentle movements turn into desperate pulls and tugs, and there is no space left between our frantic bodies.

Our mouths barely part as my frenzied hands are tugging at his shirt and fumbling with his buttons. He does the same to my sweater, ripping up and off fiercely so we can embrace skin on skin.

As I'm straddling his lap on the couch, he puts both arms around my waist and easily lifts me so he's standing and I can wrap my legs around his waist. He strides towards his room with purpose and throws me down on his bed.

His hungry eyes look down at me, weapons finally disengaged. There's nothing but possession and craving now.


	35. Chapter 35

We're half dressed, kissing passionately on his bed.

Kylo's fingers are roaming and tracing every single inch of my body. His rough hands, calloused from years of creativity and craftsmanship, leave no section of skin uncharted. As if his hands are the ships of old, and my curves and angles are the unpredictable waves and swells of the ocean, leading him to the promised land.

I'm on top of him, straddling his muscular frame with my feminine form, kissing frantically and feverishly. My tongue is inside his mouth, a rare moment of dominance. He tastes of smoke and whiskey, he must have been partaking heavily in vices after seeing his uncle.

But I don't want to think about that right now. I don't want my sadness for his situation to somehow spoil the moment. For the first time, I truly feel like he _sees_ me. Like he's taking in every single piece of me. And I don't want this feeling to end.

I want to swim in euphoria, unburdened by the problems outside this bedroom. An idea strikes me. When I pull our mouths apart and sit up, his face looks confused at first.

"I've got something for us, stay right there," I tell him while slipping off his hard body and scampering towards my room.

When I return with two space cakes in my hands, I'm beyond pleased to see he's done exactly as I've asked. He's in the precise position I left him.

I watch Kylo's eyes flick from my face to my hands, trying to figure out why in the hell I want sweets in the middle of foreplay.

Taking a few bites of my own while passing his over, I see the recognition pass across his face as the cake is closer to his nose. They smell heavenly; weed and chocolate might just rival all other pairings.

"I see you kept yourself busy while I was away," he chuckles while peeling the paper liner from his cupcake.

"Not my first rodeo in this town," I remind him with a sly smile.

The drugs go down easily, and the cake is only three or four bites worth but I can tell by the taste that it will be potent. Kylo finishes his in two bites.

"Now, where were we..." he muses, while grabbing my diamond cuffed wrist and pulling me back towards the bed.

He's had enough of pretending that I'm in control, a point we _always_ reach, and throws me down to crawl on top of my half naked body. We resume our teenage-lust level of making out, and now every kiss and tongue swirl tastes of cocoa and cannabis.

My hands find his belt, and I do my best to rid his pants of the buckled black leather. Fumbling with the metal, I giggle into his mouth as we kiss. He pulls back, sits up on his knees, and peers down at me while pulling the belt free from its loops.

His voice is sinister silk and cinder as he looks at me with those predatory eyes and asks, "Something funny, mouse?"

I immediately sense what sort of tone he's setting for our scene and my blood begins to pump increasingly faster. As it does, it sends the intoxicating space cake venom rushing through my veins. I'm beginning to feel the drugs take effect, creeping up and into my psyche.

"No, Sir," I reply in a suddenly serious tone. He doesn't want a giggly girl, he wants a frightened damsel.

"Tell me your safe words," he commands, while stripping out of his last remaining clothes. Kylo stands before me, bare and rigidly male, a perfect specimen of human anatomy.

"Yellow and red, Sir," I reply dutifully.

He begins to remove the last of my outfit, leaving me naked on the bed except for my bracelets. I think we both like the visual representation of my submission, the _appropriate-in-public_ handcuffs, glittering against my skin.

When I'm fully exposed and waiting, he asks a question I've never heard from a sexual partner.

"And what are your safe signs?"

"My... what? Signs?"

"Yes, mouse. Signs. For when your mouth is unable to tell me to stop," he says between kissing along my collarbone and the delicious dip between neck and shoulder.

His words and actions, plus the body-high that is starting to hit me full on, cause goosebumps to erupt across my skin.

It's hard to form coherent thoughts as his mouth finds one of my nipples, twirling his tongue in potent circles. Somewhere in my inebriated brain I remember that I know a bit of American Sign Language. I haven't had full blown conversations in years but the alphabet is readily accessible in my mind.

"Y for yellow," I show him the letter in ASL, like how surfers say 'hang loose' with their thumb and pinky. "And R for red," I demonstrate the simple sign of crossing my index and middle finger, like when you're wishing for something.

"Understood, little mouse. Now get on your knees."

I do as instructed, sliding down to the floor and kneeling at his feet. He towers above me with intense waves of power and control radiating off of him.

As I peer up at Kylo, the only sign of his intoxication is the width of his pupils. My own high is still climbing, headed towards a peak.

He strides to his closet and when he comes back, he has a black necktie in hand. I have sudden flashbacks of our foursome in Denmark. A _delicious_ chill goes down my spine. As he walks behind me and puts the tie in front of my face, I close my eyes to await the blindfold.

But the expensive fabric never meets my eyes. Instead, they snap wide open as he uses the tie to force my lips apart. My mouth opens and he gently, but forcefully, pulls the fabric taught and knots it behind my head as a gag.

This is a new sensation to me, and at first it's uncomfortable but I grow to enjoy being restricted in this way. I can tell this is a tie he's already worn, his musky cologne wafts from the fabric up to my nose.

When he circles back in front of me, he assesses the scene. I'm naked, on my knees, hands resting in my lap, diamonds adorning my wrists, mouth gagged, eyes full of wonder and suspense. He looks hungry. _Starving._

"Stay."

It's a simple command. Demeaning even, like a dog being trained. But it sends electricity through my core.

I can feel wetness pooling between my thighs as he turns and walks out of the room, leaving me in a vulnerable and prone position. He's gone for a while. And I can't call out to him unless I want to grunt for his attention, so I wait.

Obedient as ever.


End file.
